<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Somebody to Love by NinjaFalcon90</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27058012">Somebody to Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFalcon90/pseuds/NinjaFalcon90'>NinjaFalcon90</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, England Needs a Hug (Hetalia), Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Inspired by Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso | Your lie in April, M/M, Minor Characters Not Listed in Tags, Minor Original Character(s), Music, Musicians, Not Beta Read, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Poor America (Hetalia), Rated T because I'm paranoid, Slice of Life, Tags May Change, Terminal Illnesses, eventual angst, eventual feels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:15:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27058012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFalcon90/pseuds/NinjaFalcon90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland, an ex-prodigy embittered by music, is convinced to join his high school marching band. What begins as a rocky start with Alfred F. Jones, a talented trumpet player who never puts his musicianship to good use, eventually blossoms into a romantic relationship. However, Alfred's everlasting battle with a rare illness challenges the strength and authenticity of their love.</p><p>Inspired by Your Lie in April. Some themes will be included, but this is not a retelling with Hetalia characters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>America/England (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Lost Passion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I recently rediscovered Your Lie in April's soundtrack, which kickstarted this story. It's not going to be a complete retelling of Your Lie in April with Hetalia characters. Instead, only some aspects are borrowed or inspired by it.<br/>I know more about marching bands than music competitions (and have an obsession with them), so this story is going to be centered on marching bands. If you're a band nerd or play an instrument, please mention it in the comments below! I'm curious to see instruments other people here can play.<br/>Even though the trumpet is Arthur's favorite instrument in this story, I purposely made his first instrument the piano. I heard from somewhere that people who learn how to play the piano first gain a better understanding on music, particularly reading sheet music.<br/>The clarinet or flute was considered to be Arthur's main instrument. However, for plot purposes, it ended up being the trumpet.<br/>The title is named after one of Queen's songs. This will be significant later.<br/>Updates for this story is likely going to be more irregular. Not only I'm trying to work on original stories, I also managed to finally land a job, which is currently full-time for now.</p><p>Translation Notes:<br/>Non, merci beaucoup= No, thank you very much<br/>Mes amis= My friends<br/>Let me know if anything needs to be corrected.<br/>...<br/>Context Notes:<br/>The word embouchure refers to how musicians shape and position their mouths to play a wind instrument. Noises are made by buzzing their lips while blowing out air. The lower the note, the looser the embouchure. The higher the note, the tighter the embouchure.<br/>If musicians over-practices on their wind instrument, they might break their chops. This means that their mouth might not be able to form the right embouchure to play notes, particularly high ones.<br/>Metronomes are used to count beats in a song. They help musicians with playing at the right tempo.<br/>AP classes are high school courses students can take to receive college credit.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur Kirkland once loved music.</p>
<p>When Arthur was five, his family went to his first classical music concert. As his brothers asked Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland when the show was going to start at every passing minute, Arthur patiently kept his eyes on the illuminated red curtain, wondering what was hiding behind it.</p>
<p>The audience’s mutters died down when the stage lights brightened. After the announcer’s introduction, the curtains opened. A grand piano stood in the stage’s center, enveloped by the spotlight. Hands clapped as a man dressed in a black suit sat down at the piano.</p>
<p>Arthur, like many spectators, was moved by the performance. His heart rose when the melody was lively, his heart sank when the melody was gloomy, and his heart panged at every slammed note.</p>
<p>His eyes on his sheet music, pianist kept his composure. His fingers gracefully danced on the black and white keys, loose and relaxed. By the time the pianist bowed at the thunderous applause, Arthur’s dream to become a detective faded away.</p>
<p>Mrs. Kirkland gently shook Allistor and Connor awake. Mr. Kirkland carried Dylan, who remained asleep as his father buckled his seatbelt for him. Unlike his brothers, Arthur could not stop jabbering about the performance until he and his family reached their car. He endlessly begged for a grand piano as his family drove back home.</p>
<p>“Pleeeease, I really wanna learn!” Arthur pleaded, his green eyes resembling a sad kitten’s.</p>
<p>“It is ‘want to’, not ‘wanna’.” Mr. Kirkland corrected. “And no, we cannot afford a grand piano. It is simply too expensive!”</p>
<p>“But it looks so fun to plaaaay!” Arthur whined.</p>
<p>“Oh, be quiet, Artie!” Allistor shot a cross look at his youngest brother. “I don’t understand what is the big deal about a stupid piano.”</p>
<p>“The piano isn’t stupid!” Arthur retorted. “You’re only staying that because you were sleeping during the concert!”</p>
<p>“It was so boring I fell asleep.” Allistor smirked.</p>
<p>“It was not boring!” Arthur’s voice rose.</p>
<p>“Was to!”</p>
<p>“Was not!”</p>
<p>“Was to!”</p>
<p>“Was not!”</p>
<p>“Boys! Lower your voices!” Mrs. Kirkland ordered.</p>
<p>Arthur and Allistor glowered at each other before facing their mother.</p>
<p>“Arthur, you and your father shall discuss about this.”</p>
<p>Dejected, Arthur sighed quietly and looked out the window. Usually when his parents said they would discuss something, it usually meant no.</p>
<p>A few days later, Mrs. Kirkland asked Arthur if he wanted to attend after school piano lessons, an offer answered with an excited, “Yes!” On Arthur’s sixth birthday, his parents surprised him with a piano keyboard. Arthur’s brothers rolled their eyes at each other as Arthur ran around in circles and shouted in joy. Arthur did not care if the keyboard was made of plastic or had to be connected to a wall outlet. What matter the most was he finally had his own set of black and white keys.</p>
<p>From then on, Arthur ran to his keyboard the moment he got back from school, finished his homework, and finished his meals. He protested whenever his parents told him it was time for bed, only submitting when they told him sleep would help him with his performance. By the time he was eight, he could play Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and Chopin’s Etude Op. 10, No. 4.</p>
<p>The piano introduced Arthur to the world of music. If it were not for Arthur’s music classes at school, he would have stuck with the piano for his entire music pursuit. Pretty soon, pedestrians heard either a mellow piano, a whistling flute, a woozy clarinet, a humming saxophone, or a blaring trumpet whenever they passed by the Kirkland household. Although the piano was Arthur’s first instrument, his favorite instrument was the trumpet. Arthur, the quietest of the Kirkland brothers finally found his voice in his loud and proud trumpet. Whenever his brothers ganged up on him to tease him, Arthur always chased them away by picking up his trumpet and threatening to play the highest note he could hit.</p>
<p>With time, Arthur’s music skills could only improve. He performed at parties, churches, concerts, and shows and came out of competitions victorious. Soon, Arthur’s name was well-known in the music community as an unstoppable rising star. However, Arthur’s rise to fame, ironically, marked the beginning of his fall.</p>
<p>At the start, Arthur competed against screeching violins, slamming piano keys, and squeaking, spattering wind instruments. Now, his competitors could play the most complicated songs without missing a single note. When by their sides, Arthur became average. He had to prove that he was better than average, a burden made heavier by his family. Arthur became his parents’ walking, breathing trophy. Mr. Kirkland bragged about how their youngest son was a music prodigy to during gatherings, a repetitive action that earned disdain and jealousy of not only distinct relatives, but also his brothers. Sometimes, Arthur intentionally played louder just to not hear what his brothers whispered about him behind his back. Assuming that her son enjoyed being busy with music, Mrs. Kirkland signed Arthur up for performances and competitions one after the other.</p>
<p>Soon, music became a chore, a chore Arthur did for his parents. Most kids spent their free time watching cartoons, reading their favorite books, or playing with their friends outside. Arthur spent his leisure time practicing nonstop for the next competition or recital. He bit back his tongue and stuck with the strict schedule, even if his stomach grumbled or his eyelids felt heavy. Music defined his place in the world. He should not give it up. What would he be if he was not good at it?</p>
<p>Nothing, as he would learn after losing his first competition.</p>
<p>Arthur’s hands grew sweaty as he entered the stage. His trumpet felt slippery in his grasp. The audience’s applauses made his stomach flipflop. Despite the adrenaline shooting up in his veins, the thirteen-year-old’s eyelids felt heavy. Bleached by the spotlight, spectators failed to notice the dark circles under his eyes and how pale his face was.</p>
<p>Arthur began. Having recited the song over and over again, he knew the piece by heart. Every note and measure were played perfectly until he got to the highest note of the song.</p>
<p>A pitiful, sputtering whimper silenced the song. Eyes widened in surprise. Arthur froze.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Start at the beginning of that measure and continue.” </em>
</p>
<p>A sound that resembled a weak airhorn burst out of the trumpet. A child’s giggle came from the audience.</p>
<p>
  <em>“I could play that note last night! What is wrong with my embouchure?”</em>
</p>
<p>As Arthur’s trumpet continued to squeal and splutter, the judges whispered amongst each other. Murmurs came from the audience.</p>
<p>Cringing, Arthur continued with the rest of the song. His performance did not improve from then on. Although he could still here the music piece, his muscle memory forgot the fingerings. His breaths became shakier and more labored. According to his mental metronome, he was dragging behind the song’s tempo. His trumpet’s tone sounded like a cross between a strangled cat and a dying duck.</p>
<p>Although he could not make out of his viewers’ faces, he easily saw their disgusted, uneasy expressions. The spotlight scorched his eyes. Arthur just wanted someone to turn it off so no one could not see his tears.</p>
<p>Arthur had never hurried off the stage so quickly. He hid in the corner of the backstage below the glowing red exit sign until the competition ended. For the first time, his name was not called to receive a prize.</p>
<p>Familiar footsteps approached him. Arthur kept his eyes on the floor. His hugged his knees tighter to his chest.</p>
<p>“Arthur.” The disappointment in Mr. Kirkland’s voice made Arthur’s heavy heart clench.</p>
<p>“Arthur?” Not even Mrs. Kirkland’s gentler voice eased the swell in Arthur’s stomach.</p>
<p>“Let’s go home now.” Arthur weakly nodded at his mother’s statement. His knees shook as he rose.</p>
<p>Arthur’s parents did not say a single word to him on the way home. While Mr. Kirkland fought the urge to cuss out the drivers cutting in front of him, Mrs. Kirkland gave pitying smiles to Arthur whenever she looked over her shoulders at him. Arthur only looked away and sat in silence, numb hands tingling and fingertips twitching.</p>
<p>That night, Arthur shoved his trumpet case underneath his bed and pulled his keyboard’s cable out of the socket. The following Monday, he returned his school’s clarinet and saxophone.</p>
<p>Arthur vowed to never perform music again.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Three Years Later</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>The doorbell rang. Tossing his headphones aside, Arthur went to open the door. He frowned at the wavy-haired blond male in front of him.</p>
<p>“Oh, it is you.” Arthur’s thick brows furrowed.</p>
<p>“Bonjour.” Francis greeted with a smile. “May I come in?”</p>
<p>“I’d much prefer to know that I shall be expecting guests beforehand.” Arthur said curtly. “However, no one else is home except for me. You may enter.”</p>
<p>“Merci.” Francis thanked. Arthur shut the door behind him.</p>
<p>Francis Bonnefoy lived a block away from Arthur. The two formally met at one of Arthur’s first music competitions. When they were not trying to outperform each other on the piano, they were at each other’s throats in the playground. However, many playdates and scoldings later, Arthur and Francis eventually realized the silliness in their hatred. In fact, Francis was the only friend who still spoke to Arthur after the fateful catastrophic performance.</p>
<p>“Would you like some tea?” Arthur asked from the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Non, merci beaucoup.” Francis answered as he sat down on a sofa. “Have you gotten your schedule for this year?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Arthur set his cup of iced tea on the coffee table. “I picked it up an hour ago.”</p>
<p>“May I take a peek at it? I would like to see if we are in any classes together.”</p>
<p>“Be my guest.” Arthur handed Francis the paper his schedule was printed on.</p>
<p>“Hmmm…” Francis’s eyes scanned the document. “AP Environmental Science, AP Calculus AB, AP English 3… So many advanced classes!”</p>
<p>“Are we sharing any classes?” Arthur rose a brow.</p>
<p>“None so far…” Francis reached the end of the schedule. “You have a free 8<sup>th</sup> period.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I decided to give myself more time for studying.”</p>
<p>“It’s such a busy schedule… How can you handle being this busy? Why don’t you take any fun classes? Classes that you enjoy?” Francis’s indigo eyes shone. “Like music?”</p>
<p>Arthur glared. “No. Absolutely not!”</p>
<p>Francis knitted his brows. “Arthur, I understand why you stopped playing music,”</p>
<p>“Not stopped. Quitted.” Arthur crossed his arms.</p>
<p>“Oui, quitted. But have you ever thought of having a little fun before graduation? We have two years before going our separate ways to college. Who knows how busy we’ll be.”</p>
<p>“Francis, we both have different plans. You are heading off to a culinary school. Me on the other hand, I’m planning to apply to several four-year colleges. I must work hard to get into the best ones!”</p>
<p>“You are right.” Francis admitted as he brushed his hair behind his ears. “I won’t have any trouble getting in. Still, I would like to spend as much time with mes amies before graduation. I just don’t know when everyone is going to see each other again.”</p>
<p>Arthur held back a scoff. Francis was his only lifelong friend, unless Francis managed to piss him off with his flirty antics. Then his status as a friend is demoted to “mere infuriating acquittance” before Arthur forgave him.</p>
<p>“If you do change your mind, join me in band. It’s always in 8<sup>th</sup> period.” Francis brought up.</p>
<p>Arthur only nodded.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Joining the school’s band? Over my dead body.”</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Are you excited for school, Arthur?” Mrs. Kirkland asked.   </p>
<p>Knives cut into chicken. Forks dug into roasted vegetables. Tea shimmered in porcelain tea cups. Arthur looked up from his plate. While Mrs. Kirkland gave him her warm smile, Mr. Kirkland kept his gaze on the wall behind his wife. He swallowed his food before taking a small sip of tea.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Was Arthur’s only answer.</p>
<p>“What classes are you taking?”</p>
<p>“How many? What kind?”</p>
<p>“I cannot remember.” Arthur brushed a speck of pepper off a slice of potato.</p>
<p>“It sounds like you are taking quite a lot! I cannot believe that you are beginning your junior year of high school! Time flies! Can you believe it, George?”</p>
<p>Mr. Kirkland only nodded.</p>
<p>“George?”</p>
<p>Mr. Kirkland took another sip of tea.</p>
<p>“George.” His wife hissed.</p>
<p>“What is the matter, Victoria?” Mr. Kirkland finally asked in annoyance.</p>
<p>Mrs. Kirkland’s emerald-green eyes, the exact color as Arthur’s, darted from her husband to Arthur.</p>
<p>Mr. Kirkland sighed. “Yes, I also cannot believe it. Arthur is becoming a fine young man.” He answered, voice monotone.</p>
<p>Arthur groaned. <em>“Fine young man my arse.” </em></p>
<p>“Arthur? What is the matter? Is the food not well?”</p>
<p>In comparison to his parents’, Arthur’s plate still had pieces of overcooked, dry chicken. The potatoes were burnt black. The broccoli and carrots were overcooked.</p>
<p>“Your dinner is fine.” Arthur forced a small smile. “I…I just feel unwell. I don’t feel very hungry. May I be excused?”</p>
<p>“You may be excused.”</p>
<p>Once when Arthur reached his bedroom, his smile finally fell. He sighed as he sat down on the carpeted ground, leaning back against the leg of his bed.</p>
<p>Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland already accepted that Arthur was not going to be a music star many years back. Dad no longer pressured him to practice, and Mum no longer filled his leisure timeslots with gigs and competitions, yet the scars Arthur accumulated during the final months of his glory remained. He loathed his parents for stealing his youth and enjoyment of one of his favorite interests, and loathed them for making them live through him. Yes, Arthur Kirkland was just not a normal kid; he was a failed child prodigy to be more precise, a title would haunt him for the rest of his life.</p>
<p>And they wonder why Arthur no longer wanted to speak with them.</p>
<p>Having three older brothers was both a blessing and a curse. Ironically, shortly after Arthur’s failure, his brothers became the new stars of the Kirkland family. During his high school years, Allistor was the top player in Global High’s football (soccer, as Americans would call it) team, a title earning him a full ride scholarship. Both Connor and Dylan later carried on Allistor’s reputation. Like their oldest brother, they also received full ride scholarships.</p>
<p>On one hand, Mum and Dad had something positive about their children (except for one) to speak about, diverting negative attention away from Arthur. On the other hand, Arthur’s older brother hogged all the positive attention, attention Arthur had been deprived for too long.</p>
<p>Currently, Allistor was completing his final semester, allowing him to receive his degree in medicine. Connor began his 3<sup>rd</sup> year in college. Dylan moved into the freshman dorms a few days ago. All three had such bright beginnings and futures ahead of them.</p>
<p>Then there was Arthur remaining in high school with his above-average-yet-not-quite-the-highest GPA.</p>
<p>As sadness clouded his eyes, Arthur took a peek underneath his bed. His trumpet case remained in the same spot he left it three years ago.</p>
<p>He stared at the case for a few moments before reaching for it, grabbing it by its handle.</p>
<p>Arthur flipped open the case and looked at his reflection in the brass surface, buried underneath the smudges and fingerprints. His fingers toyed with the three valves. Though sticky, the valve oil in the case should still be useful.</p>
<p>After setting his trumpet back in its case, Arthur took his phone off his bedstand. He opened the messages app and selected the conversation with the contact name “Frog”.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hey frog, it isn’t too late for me to join this band, is it?” </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bad Impressions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation notes:<br/>Bonjour= Hello<br/>Da= Yes<br/>Au revoir= Goodbye<br/>Oui= Yes<br/>...<br/>Context notes:<br/>In some instrument sections, the players might be divided into different parts. It helps with adding chords to the song. For example, 1st trumpets play higher notes while 2nd and 3rd trumpets play lower notes.<br/>Drills refer to how members of marching bands move from one place to another to create an image (Moving or still) on the field.<br/>When the band is learning drills for a show, they are given a packet that shows where each member is placed and where they have to go. Members are represented by a number and letter, like T2, S3, R9.<br/>Dots refer to band members' places on the field. The more people are in their places, the more recognizable or aesthetic the drill looks.<br/>People have a certain number of counts to get to their spot. For example, if they have to move from measures 1-16, they only get 16 counts. How fast they step is based on the song's tempo/beats per measure.<br/>Mezzo piano and fortissimo are dynamics, which refer to how loud or soft different instruments play. It is essential in keeping the song balanced. For example, if the bassline is too loud, no one could hear the melody.<br/>Alfred's ability is relative pitch, which is related to playing by ear. On the other hand, absolute pitch is a rare ability to recognize notes and keys without references. Whether he has this ability will be mentioned later in this story.<br/>Feel free to correct me if I got something wrong.<br/>Update 12/27/20: Mr. Edelstein and Roderich are two separate characters. I originally had the band director named Mr. Thompson, but wasn't a huge fan of it, so changed it to Mr. Edelstein</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After his 7<sup>th</sup> period, Arthur waited at the front of Francis’s French 3 class, a rectangular-shaped object bulging out his bookbag. Francis trailed a group of giggling girls out the classroom. With an “Au revoir”, he blew a kiss before leading Arthur out the hallway. Arthur rolled his eyes at the sighs and swoons behind him.</p><p>“How typical.” Arthur dryly remarked, following Francis to the band room.</p><p>“So, mon cher, what instrument are you going to be playing?” Francis asked.</p><p>“Trumpet. Unless if the band is short of other instruments.”</p><p>“Oh, tres bien! We always talk about how we always need more trumpets! There’s already enough people playing flutes, clarinets, and saxophones.”</p><p>“Good to know that I’ll be of good use.”</p><p>Students only entered the band room; none left. Upon taking a step in, air-conditioned air nibbled on Arthur’s nose and ears. The room smelt of dust. Students carried black music stands to their blue chairs. Sheet music drifted and scattered on the floor. Amidst the cheery voices were random noises ranging from drum sticks crackling on a snare drum, a whistling flute, and a trombone blaring like a roaring car engine.</p><p>A middle-aged man with graying brown hair sat at the desk adjacent to the white board. Behind the small spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose, his piercing gaze narrowed at the computer monitor, possibly judging whoever sent him the email he received just now. Though, the wild, long strand of hair protruding upwards on his hair detached any kind of frightening presences the man emitted.</p><p>“Mr. Edelstein?” Francis spoke. </p><p>“Hm?” The band director looked up from the screen.</p><p>“Here is mon ami Arthur. He would like to join band.”</p><p>Mr. Edelstein’s violet-hued regard peered up at Arthur’s figure. Arthur swallowed quietly. The band director had similar judgmental eyes that observed Arthur when he used to perform on the stage.</p><p>“Good to meet you, Mr. Edelstein.” Arthur spoke, hiding the tremble in his voice. “My name is Arthur Kirkland.”</p><p>“Kirkland, you say… I heard about you several years ago. You are a music prodigy people always talked about, are you?” An Austrian accent rang in Mr. Edelstein’s questioning voice.</p><p>“Was.” Arthur corrected, the corner of his mouth twitching. “After some convincing from Francis here, I decided to return to music. I was considering playing trumpet unless there are other instruments you want to assign me to. I can also play the clarinet and saxophone.”</p><p>“Trumpet? Perfect.” Mr. Edelstein’s thin smile and slow nod sent a shiver down Arthur’s back. “The band needs more first trumpets. We only have one, and he isn’t the most detail-oriented musician. As for the other trumpets, they haven’t reached that level yet.”</p><p><em>“First?! I haven’t been playing trumpet for three years!” </em>Arthur kept his mouth shut. </p><p>“Talented, hardworking musicians like you are always in top demand.” Mr. Edelstein states. “Musicality is the most important thing in a band. I’m sure that the other bandsmen will take after you given your reputation.”</p><p>The bell for 8<sup>th</sup> period rang. Steps hurried towards the chairs. Chairs squeaked on the floor. Voices died down as Mr. Edelstein walked to the front of the class room in front of the whiteboard. The room grew so silent, voices outside the building could be clearly heard. </p><p>“Welcome back, everyone. I hope you all had a good summer break. Before we start, I would like to introduce someone who joined our class today. Arthur Kirkland, tell us about yourself.”</p><p>Most of the eyes peering up at Arthur were full of wonder and curiosity. Though some, particularly the ones more aware of and knowledgeable of music prodigies and competitions, widened in astonishment.</p><p>“Arthur Kirkland? I heard that name somewhere.”</p><p>“Wasn’t he some kind of a famous musician?”</p><p>“You’re right. I haven’t heard of that name for a few years.”</p><p>Fingers pointed at Arthur, who kept a stoic expression to hide his uneasiness. Besides Francis, the only other few students he recognized was Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Carriedo.    </p><p>“Good day, everyone.” Arthur introduced himself. “My name is Arthur Kirkland. I will be playing the trumpet, though I also know how to play the piano, flute, clarinet, and saxophone.”</p><p>“Ve~ Your name sounds familiar.” An auburn-haired boy with a hair curl suddenly remarked.</p><p>“Well…” Arthur started.</p><p>“Arthur was a former music prodigy.” Mr. Edelstein interrupted. “If anyone of you need with music, I am sure he’ll be able to help. Any last words before we begin, Arthur?”</p><p>“N-No, sir.”</p><p>Mr. Edelstein introduced the class to the freshmen and newcomers. Pages of syllabus flipped as the band director read his word by word. Some students, particularly the upperclassmen, hid their phones behind their syllabus, pretending to follow along with Mr. Edelstein. Once when everyone finished the final page, the class transitioned to warm-ups and a quick practice session on music. Arthur’s careful attention to dynamics and articulations was rendered useless by the trumpet session’s tendency to play their parts as loud as they could.   Absorbed in their own antics, neither of them took notice at Arthur’s dirty glares. The class ended early with ten minutes left on the clock.</p><p>A junior with an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Edelstein approached Mr. Edelstein with a printed drill. His brown hair was a darker hue and had the same wild strand from hair protruding on the right side of his hair. If it were not for the mole on his chin and violet eyes, many would have theorized that Roderich Edelstein was Mr. Edelstein’s younger self who somehow time-traveled to the present day. As Roderich flipped the page of the drill, Mr. Edelstein’s harden features softened as his son asked him for suggestions for improvement.</p><p><em>“I wonder how it is like to have a good relationship with one’s father.” </em>Arthur gloomily thought. <em>“Or parents in general.”</em></p><p>A hand gave Arthur a playful slap on the back, making Arthur whisk around with a defensive glare. “Hey, Arthur! Nice to have you in our section!” A trumpet player with light blond hair beamed.</p><p>Besides him was a carob-haired boy with a white bandage on his nose, presumably also in the trumpet section. “G’day!” he greeted.</p><p>Arthur furrowed his brows, as blond’s wild haircut and the brunet’s twin ahoges irritated him. “Who are you two?”</p><p> “I’m Mathias!”  </p><p>“I’m Jett! We’re trumpets like you!”</p><p>“Oh. I’m pleased to meet you two.” Arthur said with a deadpan expression.</p><p>“So, wanna meet the section?” Mathias asked with wild glistening eyes.</p><p>“Sure thing, I suppose.”</p><p>The trumpet section sat in a circle in the center of the room. Eyes curiously peered up at Arthur, who sat near the group’s outline.</p><p>“Hey, it’s Arthur!”</p><p>“What’s up!”</p><p>“Welcome!”</p><p>“Um, nice to meet everyone.” Arthur forced a nervous smile. Each member of his section, to some degree, had boisterous looks in their eyes.</p><p>“You’re playing first, right?” Mathias asked.</p><p>“Yes, yes I am.” Arthur’s answered earned cheerful hollers, which turned heads from the other sections, who stared for a few moments before resuming their activities. Typical trumpets. Arthur strained his smile as his section’s rowdiness. <em>“Don’t tell me they are this loud…”</em></p><p>“Oh, we got another first trumpet! Thank god!” Jett sighed in relief.</p><p>“Thank god? How many first trumpets are there?” Arthur questioned.</p><p>“Two. Including you.” Mathias answered. “Mr. Edelstein’s pretty picky when it comes to selecting first trumpets!”</p><p>“Mr. Edelstein said Mathias and I aren’t good enough yet. Bullcrap, ain’t it, mate?” Jett interjected.</p><p>“I know, right? He rather give first trumpet to one junior who only does his own thing and not let us sophomores take up the challenge!”</p><p><em>“Coming from the section who doesn’t follow dynamics.” </em>Arthur disdainfully thought before asking, “Mind do I ask, who is the other first trumpet? Is he here?”</p><p>Awaiting a <em>yes </em>or a <em>no </em>answer, Arthur did not expect Mathias and Jett’s grin to stretch a bit <em>too </em>wide. As the other trumpet players looked away, the Dane and the Australian’s nervous-stricken eyes darted at each other, communicating a secretive message reserved for the both of them.</p><p>“Nah, he’s out sick like usual.” Mathias answered with a shrug. “You’ll probably meet him later in the week during practice.”</p><hr/><p>Despite having not played for three years, Arthur’s mouth automatically shaped itself when he placed his trumpet’s cold mouthpiece against his lips. His fingers pressed the correct valves as he played a B flat scale. Although he had difficulty tightening his lips to play higher notes, Arthur was confident that he would reach them with practice, hopefully in a short amount of time.</p><p>Arthur’s brief practice was cut short when Mrs. Kirkland called him down for dinner. Upon arriving, both his parents already sat at the table. Mr. Kirkland read the newspaper as Mrs. Kirkland poured some tea. While overcooked, not a single burnt smudge tainted the pork.</p><p>Arthur remained quiet as he scooted his chair close to the table and jabbed his fork into the roasted pork.</p><p>“So, how was your first day in your school’s band?” Mrs. Kirkland asked, giving Arthur a smile.</p><p>“Good.” Was Arthur’s brief answer.</p><p>“I heard your practicing upstairs. Still sounds good like before, don’t you think George?”</p><p>“You can say that.” Mr. Kirkland responded, reaching for his tea. “Frankly, I can’t tell the difference. Either way, I’d much prefer for Arthur to join a school club to do something more production. However, can’t stop him especially if his friend convinced him, I suppose.”</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland frowned at her husband’s bluntness. “George!” She scolded, “Why would you say such a thing? Don’t tell me that you’re still upset!”</p><p>“He’ll have more opportunities in the future if he didn’t waste his time in the school band!” Mr. Kirkland retorted.</p><p>As his parents began to bicker, Arthur sighed through his nose and continued to pick through his food. While Mum accepted Arthur’s decision to join the band with open arms, Dad glared at Arthur as if Arthur blurted an obscenity at him. Regardless of the different responses, Arthur knew,<em> “At least I’m only doing this for myself now. I don’t want them involved in my business anymore.” </em></p><hr/><p>The only predictable thing about trying new things was its unpredictability. On Wednesdays and Fridays after classes, the Global High Band practiced their halftime show on the football field.</p><p>“Mon ami, why are you so worried about this?” Francis asked. The two strolled past the students spilling out classes and slamming locker doors.</p><p>“I just want to be prepared.” Arthur answered curtly, clutching his trumpet case tightly.</p><p>“You don’t have to be worried about this. It’s only practice.”</p><p>“That’s something you would say! This is your third year in band! Me? I only just started! I don’t want to make a fool of myself!”</p><p>“That’s why practice exists. To make fools of ourselves now than later.” Francis gave a mischievous smile at Arthur’s annoyed scowl. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll give you a brief summary on what happens during practice.”</p><p><em>“At the beginning of practice, drills are passed out. Drills help you find your location on the field for every set. Our marching style is high-stepping. Step with the tempo. Just listen to Mr. Edelstein and follow his instructions.” </em>All of Francis’s information dissipated once when Arthur set his foot on the field’s artificial green turf, making him the greatest fool surrounded by experts on the field. Despite his supposed music talent, he brought more inconveniences than he wanted to.</p><p>“Next time, watch where you are going, da?” Ivan requested, his sousaphone looming over Arthur. Arthur gulped. One wrong move and the Russian might wrack him in his face with the sousaphone’s bell. </p><p>“Y-Yes, I shall.” Arthur quickly nodded before hurrying away. He breathed a sigh of relief when Ivan did not trail him.</p><p>Arthur frowned as he flipped through the drill packet. “How is it possible to memorize the show’s music while simultaneously learning the formation?” He grumbled, weaving around the other students. His feet and legs stung with every step. A sore pulsed underneath his thighs. “Whoever thought high-stepping was a good marching form deserves to be stoned. In addition, it is difficult to play while marching! My tone sounds horrible because I simply can’t get enough air!”</p><p>“Now, where is my spot?” T2, Arthur’s representation on the drill, was on the 30 yard like above the hash. “That looks correct. I vaguely remember standing there.”</p><p>Before Arthur claimed his spot, Feliciano, a sophomore alto saxophonist, wandered onto the spot. Arthur furrowed his brows at the auburn-haired male. “Excuse me, you are in my spot.”</p><p>Feliciano gave a sweet, oblivious smile. “I am? But the drill says that I’m here!”</p><p>“What is your number?” Arthur scanned the clusters of letters and numbers on the field’s diagram. </p><p>“A2—oh…” Feliciano’s mouth formed an O shape. “Sorry, I misread! Hey, Ludwig! Ludwig! Where do I go?” Feliciano’s drill pages flapped as Feliciano hurried towards a stoic blond bass drummer. Ludwig shook his head before skimming through the drill and pointing to the opposite side.</p><p>The other bandsmen chatted around Arthur as he straightened the sheet music attached to its lyre. Francis was near the 20-yard line surrounded by Gilbert and Antonio, the latter two obviously not in their spot. The only words deciphered from the trio of tenor saxophones were Francis’s “Honhonhon.”, Gilbert’s “Kesesesese!”, and Antonio’s “Fusosososo…”. </p><p>Arthur grimaced. Although he only saw Gilbert and Antonio whenever he and Francis bumped into them, Arthur hung around the three long enough to know what they were discussing when they laughed that way. <em>“I do not want to know what perverted things these three are talking about.”</em></p><p>“Set!” Mr. Edelstein’s voice boomed through the speakers, making all the band kids turn to face him. Antonio and Gilbert hurried back to their spots. Arthur slowly took a deep breath as the whistle blew. </p><p>Left legs rose. The band began to play. </p><p><em>“Remember where to go.” </em>Arthur’s eyes darted from his sheet music to his surroundings, lungs straining themselves as he blew into his trumpet. With every step, air expelled out of his mouth quicker than he wanted. </p><p><em>“Don’t collide into Ivan.” </em>Arthur stepped around Ivan. <em>“God, I need air. Well, trumpets are at mezzo piano now, so I suppose I can take a quick breath.”</em></p><p>Arthur’s mouth parted from his mouthpiece. His inhale was cut short by a high-pitched screech slicing through the rumbling drums and crashing cymbals. </p><p><em>“Bloody hell!” </em>Arthur turned at the ear-splitting sound’s source.<em> “Damn it, was that a trumpet? That isn’t on the sheet music—!” </em></p><p>“Oi!” A voice shouted. Arthur gasped. He swerved, missing Lovino by a few inches. The alto saxophonist’s hazel eyes shot a dagger before he continued to his spot. </p><p>By the time Arthur reached his dot, he was out of breath. As he greedily sucked in cool, refreshing air, his red face lightened to its original fair hue. </p><p>“Ok, that will be it for today’s practice.” Mr. Edelstein said over the loudspeaker. </p><p>While Mr. Edelstein gave his announcements, Arthur scanned around the field, searching for the source of the horrendous noise. A noise that high-pitched and loud definitely came from a trumpet. While Arthur was still learning his section’s names and personalities, he concluded that the person most likely to make such a horrendous screech was the one who looked the most irksome. </p><p>A blond cowlick flashed from the corner of Arthur’s sight. Arthur sharpened his green glare. A few yards away, a trumpet player fidgeted with his instrument’s valves, lips curved upwards in a huge smile as he remained deaf to the announcements. His baby blue eyes twinkled behind glasses as his sight wandered around, eventually drifting at Arthur’s direction.</p><p>Arthur turned away with a scowl. Indeed, that face was definitely punchable. </p><p>At the whistle, all the students hurried off the field. Before Arthur could confront the infuriating boy with the cowlick, Lovino confronted him first.</p><p>“Hey, you fucking almost ran into me! Don’t you have any damn eyes?”</p><p>“I greatly apologize. I did not intend to hit you. I was distracted—.”</p><p>“Distracted enough to not look ahead while marching! Bullshit excuses!”</p><p>“Oh, Lovi! Don’t be so rude!” Antonio approached with Gilbert and Francis. “Come on, let’s pack up our stuff and go home!”</p><p>With a smile, Antonio took Lovino by the hand and gently tugged him along. “Oh, damn you bastard!” Lovino scowled as he rolled his eyes. Gilbert snickered and followed the two. </p><p>“Don’t worry, Arthur. That’s how Lovino is to most people.” Francis said. </p><p>“It was not my fault! I got distracted by another trumpet! You should’ve heard that horrendous noise he played! I don’t know his name, but I think I know what he looks like! When I find him, I—”</p><p>“What does he look like?” </p><p>Arthur listed, “Blond hair, glasses, has an annoying cowlick—”.</p><p>“Oh.” Francis tsked. “That’s Alfred.”</p><p>“Alfred? The other first trumpet?” Arthur looked around.</p><p>Alfred just finished putting his trumpet into its case. As he followed an identical-looking boy off the field, he gave his goodbyes to as many fellow bandsmen as possible.</p><p>“Goodbye, Feli! Bye, Ludwig! Cya, Kiku my dude! Talk to you later, Emma! See ya tomorrow, Roderich and Elizabeta! Bye Gil! Bye Antonio! Bye, Lovino!”</p><p>Only Feliciano and Kiku responded with a bubbly, “Bye, Alfred!” and a soft smile. The rest of the bandsmen gave side-eyes, occupied themselves with slowly sliding sheet music into their folders, or just looked away. Regardless of the responses, Alfred kept smiling.</p><p>
  <em>“Looks like everyone else is also infuriated by that wanker.” </em>
</p><p>“Bye, Francis!”</p><p>Francis strained a small smile back in acknowledgement. “Au revoir, Alfred!”</p><p>Alfred’s eyes brightened before he said, “See you tomorrow—! Huh? Who’s this?” He asked, pointing to Arthur. “I came to practice kinda late, so I didn’t see you. Who are you? Oh, are you the new trumpet everyone’s talking about? What’s your name?”</p><p>“Hmph.” Arthur crossed his arms, trumpet still in hand. Not even his glare dulled the shine in Alfred’s eyes.</p><p>Francis set an arm around Arthur. “This is Arthur. He also plays first trumpet like you.”</p><p>“Dude, that’s so neat! I’m Alfred! Alfred F. Jones! Nice to meet you!”</p><p>“Nice to meet you too.” Arthur barely cracked a smile.</p><p>“Well, gotta head out now! Mattie’s waiting for me over there! Cya guys later! Again, nice meeting you, Arthur!”</p><p>“Au revoir, Alfred.”</p><p>Alfred ran towards the field’s exit, where Matthew waited at the chain-link fences</p><p>“He really can’t read the atmosphere.” Arthur remarked.</p><p>“Oui. That is Alfred for you.”</p><p>Although Alfred was yards away, his booming laugh bounced off every parked vehicle in the lot. Arthur’s index finger twitched at Alfred’s cowlick bobbing with Alfred’s steps.</p><hr/><p>The next day, Arthur came into the band room during lunch to practice. The door shut behind him on its own, cutting off the other band kids’ laughs and carefree babbles from the lunch circle.</p><p>A sole trumpet’s blare from one of the practice rooms greeted Arthur, recognized the piece as the first trumpet part for one of the show music.</p><p>Arthur thought, <em>“The band only has two first trumpet players, including me. Does that mean that bloke actually practices?” </em>Spattering sounds and a high-pitched blare broke Arthur’s train of thought. Furrowing his brows, Arthur strode to the practice rooms. <em>“These are not written in the sheet music.”</em></p><p>Arthur rapped his knuckles on a door.</p><p>“Yeah, dude?” Alfred opened the door, a foolish grin spread across his face.</p><p>Arthur retained his stern expression. “Excuse me, were you just practicing one of our show music?”</p><p>“Yeah, what’s up?”</p><p>Arthur pointed at some measures on his sheet music. “Well, if you can read music, which I doubt you can, that tune you just played is not written here. In addition, trumpets are supposed to play at mezzo piano. You were playing at fortissimo.”</p><p>As his smile fell, Alfred narrowed his eyes. “So what?”</p><p>“So what? If you do not follow the music, you will ruin the song’s composition!”</p><p>“But how would people know?” Alfred’s voice rose, fueled by defense. “It’s not like they’re looking at staring at our music as we play!”</p><p> “They will definitely know when our performance sounds awful!”</p><p>Alfred threw up his arms. “They won’t care! Why are you have to be so serious about music? That’s no fun, dude!”</p><p>“Why won’t you look at your music and take people’s advice?” Arthur retorted. “Do you want to ruin our show?”</p><p>“No! But I still want to have fun! I came to band to have fun!”</p><p>“Well, I find learning to play music the way it is written very enjoyable. You should learn how to have fun for that.”</p><p>“Geez, and be a boring stick-in-the-ass like you? Heck no, dude.”</p><p>~.~.~</p><p>“I was trying to help him, Francis!” Arthur vented as the two walked to the band room. “No matter how I tried to explain, that git just would not listen!”</p><p>“It’s best to let him be. Just allow him to do his own things.” Francis advised.</p><p>“But with him not following directions, how are we going to have a fine performance?”</p><p>“Well,” Francis trailed off when he held the door open for Arthur.</p><p>Most of the students set up stands, placed their chairs, put together their instruments, and prepared their music. Alfred was already seated. He played snippets of popular tunes on his trumpet, such as “A Cruel Angel’s Thesis” and the Gamecube startup jingle. Although his music rank was empty, he never missed a note for every jingle.</p><p>Arthur’s eyes largened. “He actually played these songs without any references.”</p><p>Francis opened his saxophone case. “Oui. Just because he does not follow sheet music does not mean he is bad at music. He is very good at playing by ear. Rumors say he might even have absolute pitch.”</p><p>“Absolute pitch?” Arthur’s eyes darkened, unable to become any greener. He glared at Alfred.</p><p><em>“Why won’t that git use his skills for his musicianship?” </em> </p><p>Sensing Arthur’s daggers, Alfred turned around, carefree expression hardening into a grimace. He glowered at Arthur before turning away with a quiet humph.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Still processing how Hetalia's getting another season next year in spring.<br/>OT: Here's chapter 2! I hope the context notes help with understanding the story better. If you're still confused, I suggest looking up videos of marching band performances and images of drills.<br/>For reference, here's a list of what instruments each character introduced in this chapter plays:<br/>-Arthur and Alfred: Trumpet. When this story came up, I made Alfred a trumpet. Trumpet players are stereotypically loud, cocky, and boisterous, which suits his personality. As mentioned in my last chapter, Arthur was originally going to be a clarinet or saxophone player. Eventually, I decided to make him a trumpet player. It helps show how his relationship with Alfred develops.<br/>-Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio: Tenor saxophone. For some reason, saxophones are associated with sexiness. What better instrument can be given to the BTT?<br/>-Ludwig: Bass drum. When I used to be in a marching band, I listened to the bass drums' beats to keep myself in tempo with the song (Sousaphone's parts often are aligned with bass drum parts.). As a result, I felt that Ludwig was suitable to be a bass drummer because he's the person people follow for instructions.<br/>-Feliciano, Lovino, and Kiku: Alto saxophone. Feliciano and Kiku playing this instrument is a reference to my other fanfic Make a Wish, as both played this instrument in the story. In addition, due to being higher-pitched than tenor saxes, I associate alto saxes with adorable dorkiness. The three are dorks in their own way.<br/>-Ivan: Sousaphone. Sousaphone are very large instruments, which is suitable for Ivan's hefty build. Also, they are usually the smallest section (guess why?), which refers to Ivan's loneliness.<br/>-Matthew: Mellophone. Mellophones can be mistaken for trumpets by non-musicians, which is a reference to how Mattie's always mistaken for Al.<br/>-Roderich= Clarinet. Clarinet is one of the classical wind instruments.<br/>-Elizabeta= Trombone. I cannot picture Elizabeta with a flute, so I made her a trombone.<br/>-Roderich= Main instrument is the clarinet. Can play many more other instruments. Also the band's drum major.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Names and Reputations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Context Notes:<br/>A measure (or) bar refers to how many beats are played in a segment of time.<br/>By definition, 8th notes are played for one eighth of a whole note. 16th note are played for one sixteenth of a whole note. Depending on the song's tempo, they can be very fast and tricky to play.<br/>Let me know if any parts of this chapter is confusing, so I can elaborate in the notes here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Upon starting band, Arthur had a tiny wishful thought in the back of the head. Maybe this class would be the catalyst to self-fulfillment. In a span of a week, however, his morale dwindled to zero, back to where it was before.</p><p>Arthur’s reputation as a music prodigy was a double-edged sword that harmed Arthur no matter how he held it. Mr. Edelstein referred to him as an ideal example whenever the trumpets section made mistakes, an often occurrence due to the members’ short attention spans and tendency to goof off.</p><p>“These notes are not accented. They are marcato. Listen to Arthur for reference.”</p><p>“Work on these parts. If you need help with them, go to Arthur.”</p><p>“If you practice more often, you might become just as good as Arthur.”</p><p>Mathias rolled his eyes once Mr. Edelstein directed his attention to the drum section. “If you practice more often, you might become just as good as Arthur!” he repeated in a mocking tone. “Well excuse me, not all of us are prodigies like him!”</p><p>Driven by jealousy, the trumpet players turned their backs at Arthur. Arthur was perfect. Why would he need help from us? He probably thought he knew everything. Just leave the band director’s pet be.</p><p>Unbeknownst to the other trumpets, Arthur saw himself as only average. Yes, his fingers recuperated their nimbleness. Yes, his trumpet now blared out a steady, bold sound, a sound not too weak and not too loud, like before. However, unlike the rest of his section, Arthur also dumped and left his instrument underneath his beds for three years, three years without practicing. In addition, his marching form was as graceful as an overweight elephant. Arthur could not carry on his reputation if he could not get anything right?</p><p>A week from the school’s first football game, Arthur could play almost all three of the show songs without looking at the sheet music. His eyes freely darted around the football field for incoming obstacles as he marched, no longer hindered by music perched on his lyre. However, one particular measure in one song had a rise and falling arch of 8<sup>th</sup> and 16<sup>th</sup> notes. Every time when he got to that bloody measure, if he did not play the wrong notes, his trumpet sputtered out the higher notes.</p><p>As a result, while the other band kids spent their lunches outside the band room chatting and goofing around, Arthur spent his in the practice rooms, effort always rewarded with an empty stomach, pulsing lips, and a grouchy mood. That bloody measure! Initially, Arthur’s frustration cooled once he distracted himself with class lectures and assignments. As the days crept closer to the game, however, Arthur’s patience became as thin as tracing paper.</p><p>On Wednesday, two days before the game, Arthur entered the band room like usual. He frowned when he recognized the muffled tune from the first practice room.</p><p><em>“At least that stubborn git is being productive for once.” </em>Arthur scoffed as he entered the second practice room.</p><p>After playing a full run through of all three show songs, Arthur gave the rest of his time towards the difficult measure. The metronome app hastily clicked in his earbuds as he rehearsed over and over again. Following every unsuccessful run, Arthur shut his eyes and counted to ten.</p><p><em>“Do it again.” </em>He told himself before slowly inhale.</p><p>Failure after failure, Arthur’s eyelids trembled as he tried to close his eyes. His counts rushed with his impatient heart beats. Heat flushed his forehead and cheeks. To add salt in the wound, Alfred’s perfect recital played every time Arthur’s ended, mocking him for his failure.</p><p>Finally, Arthur slumped onto the stool defeated, his loud sigh reverberating on the white walls. Fighting the urge to through his precious trumpet across the narrow room, he shakily set the instrument down next to him.</p><p>“Damn it.” Arthur buried his face in his pulsing hands. The singular white light shone on him like a limelight, highlighting Arthur Kirkland the washed-up prodigy. “I loathe music.”</p><p>Just then, knuckles knocked on the door.</p><p>“Hey dude?”</p><p>Arthur jolted, eyes narrowing at the American-accented voice. Before Arthur even responded, Alfred barged into the practice room.</p><p>Typical Americans and their nosiness.</p><p>“Hey.” Alfred repeated, his smile not as cocky as when Arthur last saw him.</p><p>“Hello.” Arthur replied coldly.</p><p>“You doing okay, dude?”</p><p>“Yes. I am doing fine. Go away.”</p><p>“Ya sure? I heard you sigh. Sounded kinda angry.”</p><p><em>“Great. He is going to mock me.” </em>Arthur thought before admitting, “Well, I am a tad frustrated.”</p><p>“You want any help? Heroes help everyone, even those with sticks up their asses.”</p><p>“Why you—!” Arthur started, glowering at Alfred’s toothy smirk. “Why would I get help from someone so superstitious and insufferable like you?”</p><p>“Well, if you don’t want my help, I guess nothing’s gonna stop me, the only other first trumpet who’s gonna purposely play that part wrong.” Alfred rose his brows with a smug expression.</p><p>Arthur huffed. “Fine, I shall accept your help. By the way, it is ‘going to’, not ‘gonna’.”</p><p>“To each of your own, man! Now, what are you having trouble on, dude?”</p><p>Arthur showed his music and tapped on the measure.</p><p>“Ooh, that measure!”</p><p>Arthur groaned.<em> “He is going to rub his skills in my face.” </em></p><p>“Yeah, that measure was pretty dang hard! Took me a while to get it!”</p><p>“Took you a while?” Arthur rose a brow.</p><p>“Yeah! I was practicing that so much, my next-door neighbor came knocking on the door!” Alfred laughed. “I shouldn’t have been playing at night, hahaha! Should’ve have practiced the moment I got home! Are you following a metronome?” </p><p>“Yes.” Arthur pulled his earphones out his phone, releasing the rhythmic clicking noise.</p><p>“Set that around thirty beats slower.”</p><p>“I know the tempo to the song! I know when I’m dragging!”</p><p>“But your fingers don’t.” Alfred was replied with Arthur’s sigh. “Let’s take it slow. You still got a few more days to work on it.”</p><p>Arthur swallowed his aching pride. Together, he and Alfred recited the part at the slower tempo, pausing for a few beats to take a breath before resuming again. Once when Arthur played the measure without making a mistake, Alfred increased the metronome’s tempo by a few beats, beginning the cycle again. Although Alfred’s playing covered Arthur’s sputters and wheezes, for once, his notes did not deafen Arthur. In fact, Alfred seemed to be playing much softer so he could hear Arthur.</p><p><em>“This is so he can pick out my mistakes. That witty bastard!” </em>Arthur thought after finishing a round. </p><p>“Hey, dude.” Arthur’s eyes darted and narrowed at Alfred. “You’re pretty good.”</p><p>“No, I’m not.” Arthur curtly answered. </p><p>“Yeah, you are!”</p><p>“Stop lying.”</p><p>“Bro, you sound good! And thanks to me, the hero, you can play that part now!” Alfred teased. </p><p>“Oh, zip it you! Though,” Arthur’s tone softened. “it is now much easier to play this measure at a slower tempo for now at least.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it! You can always practice at home and if that doesn’t help, you can play it at a lower octave!”</p><p>“It’s not how it’s written, though!”</p><p>“Hey.” Alfred shrugged. “No one’s gonna know but you!”</p><p>“And you. You will also know, but you simply don’t care enough to stop me.”</p><p>By the end of lunch, Arthur and Alfred could play the measure at the regular tempo correctly. Although, Arthur still could not play the highest note, at least his fingers were accustomed to all the quick notes. As he hurried to his 6th period class, Arthur wondered why on earth Alfred helped him all of a sudden. What would he get out of helping an ex-prodigy with music? Maybe Alfred had a hidden kind side. Or perhaps, Alfred got a kick of showing Arthur, an ex-prodigy and rival first trumpet, his music superiority.</p><p>The trumpet section was always boisterous even without Alfred. Being the black sheep of his section, Arthur set his bag outside the chattering circle. After taking his trumpet out of its case, he took a look at his music sheets.</p><p>“Best to go over that measure again.” Arthur attached the sheet music to his trumpet. “Now, one two three f—.”</p><p>“It’s really that big?!” Mathias exclaimed in amazement, breaking Arthur’s concentration. </p><p>“Yep.” Jett answered proudly. “I got pics if you don’t believe it.”</p><p>“Let me see!” Mathias hassled around Jett with the other trumpets. In the picture, the crocodile protruded its head out of a large man-made pond. Jagged teeth protruded out its mouth. Its eyes shut in content like a purring cat as Jett gave it pats on its scaly head. </p><p> </p><p>Authur returned his gaze to his music. <em>“Let’s start again. One two three—.”</em></p><p>“Woah!” </p><p>“Wow!”</p><p>“Dayum!”</p><p>“He’s so huge!” Mathias shouted. “He’s petting a freaking crocodile! How often do you see that? A pet crocodile!”</p><p>“Dude, did you say a pet crocodile?”</p><p>All the trumpets silenced, their uneasy eyes trailing to Alfred, who barged into the circle and plopped his belongings down.</p><p>“Let me check it out!” Alfred got closer to Mathias, oblivious to Mathias’s nervous smile and retracting body.</p><p>The other trumpets turned to each other, whispering about Alfred.</p><p>
  <em>“He’s so oblivious. Can’t he read the atmosphere?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No one wants you around, darn it! So annoying!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s lucky to be first trumpet. If he isn’t, I would’ve forced him out.”</em>
</p><p>It seemed Arthur was not the only black sheep in the section.</p><p>Unlike the rest of his section, who awkwardly smiled and nodded at every comment from Alfred, Arthur did not lift his face from his music once. Dealing with an obnoxious git is easier than dealing with a herd of them.</p><p>Like in previous practices, the band did a run-through of their sets. Arthur had gotten used to playing while marching by then. Though, some parts of the songs had a lot of measures until the next quarter, half, or whole rest. By the time he reached the nearest rest or the band ceased playing, he was completely out of breath.</p><p><em>“How am I supposed to have enough air to play all of those?” </em>Arthur thought as he panted. His sides stung as he checked the measure again. </p><p>“Yo, dude.” Arthur turned around, shooting a green-eyed glare at the approaching Alfred, who barely flinched.  </p><p>“What is it now?” Arthur narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“If you’re out of breath, you can take a couple of counts to breathe. And before you say people will notice, I can play louder to cover it. How does that sound?”</p><p>Arthur responded by sharpening his doubtful glare. Alfred grinned at the angry expression.</p><p>“Well, it’ll be pretty bad if one of our first trumpets ran out of breath and fell onto the field!”</p><p>“Ugh, fine by me.” Arthur huffed. Alfred strode back to his previous dot, pleased to have convinced Arthur once again.</p><p>Arthur followed Alfred’s suggestion when the band replayed redid the previous set again. Whenever his stomach cramped for air, he ceased playing and breathed in for two counts. By his own word, Alfred’s trumpet resounded over the rest of the band to compensate. While not a deafening screech, the sound struck Arthur the wrong way. </p><p>A <em>mp</em> sat below the beginning of the part Alfred blared. Arthur kept this fact in the back of his head as he halted on his next dot and Mr. Edelstein told the drums to not rush. </p><p>“Reset!” The whistled tweeted, cuing the bandsmen to return to their previous set.</p><p>“Alfred.” Arthur hurried to the taller blond. He showed him his sheet music. “Play softer next time. First trumpets are at mezzo piano here.”</p><p>“So? Why does that matter?” Alfred rose a brow.</p><p>“We don’t have the melody. The saxophones do. If you play too loudly, the audience can’t hear them.”</p><p>“Whatever, dude.” Alfred rolled his eyes before walking away.</p><p>Arthur glowered. <em>“What is with this wanker? He is willing to help me, yet he does not take my suggestions? Bloody hell!”</em></p><p>Strangely, in the midst of Arthur’s irritation, Alfred’s trumpet was barely heard over the saxophone buzzing melody during this practice of the set. </p><p>After the first hour of practice, the band took a break. The sections gathered in their own circles, passing around a squeeze water bottle. Arthur recoiled at the water spraying into mouths.</p><p><em>“Only uncultured brutes are willing to drink water in that kind of manner.” </em>Arthur thought as he brought out his own water bottle. <em>“Oh. There’s only a little left. I should be fine, however.”</em></p><p>Arthur finished the remaining water in one gulp.</p><p>“Yo!” Arthur jolted at Alfred’s shout.</p><p>“What?” Arthur turned with a venomous glare.</p><p>Alfred held the squirting water bottle to Arthur. “You want some?”</p><p>“I’ve already drank. Thank you very much.”</p><p>“You sure? There’s a lot to go around!”</p><p>“No. I’m not going to drink water like I’m drinking out of a garden hose.”</p><p>Alfred shrugged. “All right. Just don’t want you passing out.”</p><p>“I am sure that I will not faint.”</p><p>Thinning his lips, Alfred hurried over to Matthew, who greeted him with an autnehtic, welcoming smile. Matthew took the water bottle from Alfred and spurted water into his mouth, while Alfred blabbered to him about an upcoming anime season.</p><p>Arthur narrowed his glaring identical-looking boys. <em>“How can someone so quiet and gentle like Matthew get along with someone so obnoxious like Alfred? Well, they are cousins after all. Family bonds can be a powerful link, I suppose.”</em></p><hr/><p>Arthur brushed the overdone vegetables with his fork as he chewed, averting his eyes from his parents. Mr. Kirkland’s face was in the newspaper, simultaneously occupied by the bad news and his wife telling him about Dylan joining the university’s football team. Arthur slid away from the table when Mrs. Kirkland began talking about Connor’s internship opportunity at a renowned company. His original plan was to practice thirty minutes before starting on his readings for history.</p><p>Fifteen minutes in, the practice session was interrupted by Mrs. Kirkland’s knocks.</p><p>“Yes, Mum?” Arthur responded.</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland gently opened the door. “Arthur, has there been any news about the school band? I heard that the first football game is this Friday.”</p><p>Arthur paused. His parents barely inquired about non-academic activities. “That is true. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Well, your father and I were thinking of attending it.”</p><p><em>“Dear god, no!” </em>Eyes large, Arthur asked, “Why?”</p><p>“It’s been a while since we saw you perform. We just want to see how well you will perform in your first game! We are confident that you will do well!”</p><p>Arthur spent the next two hours rehearsing his music.</p><hr/><p>“Bonjour, Arthur! Looking good in that uniform, I see!” Francis teased as he passed by with Antonio and Gilbert.</p><p>“Can it, frog!” Arthur frowned as he pulled up the zipper. <em>“Why in blazes are we wearing this type of clothing? It’s so stuffy! Someone is going to pass out!” </em>If the uniform was red and gold, rather than blue and white, Arthur could have at least pretended he was a redcoat for jest. </p><p>Once when Arthur slipped on his white shoes, he grabbed a cap before leaving the uniform room. The cap’s white feathery plume weighed heavily on its balance. If the cap was not a sure fit, it would have toppled off Arthur’s head several times before he joined the rest of the band outside the band room. </p><p>After warming up and doing a run-through the show’s music, the band headed to the stadium. The air was humid and warm, causing Arthur sweat to soak in his jacket by the time he sat down in the stands. Being made of metal, the stands were sizzling hot to the touch. Regardless of the weather, the game still drew crowds to the stadium.</p><p>The game began with a kick-off sending the football flying through the air. The crowd’s cheer grew louder and louder as a home team player dodged and ran around his opponents. His teammates assisted him by tackling and slamming the opponents who got too close to him for comfort. </p><p>“First down!” The speaker announced when the football player was sacked at the forty-yard line.</p><p>The band rose and played a snippet of their school’s fight song. </p><p>“Yeah! Go Globes!” Alfred shouted with enthusiasm. Arthur went deaf for a second. </p><p>Alfred sat at the end of the row by Arthur, the unwilling barrier between the obnoxious American and the rest of the trumpet section. When Alfred was not cheering for the home team, calling bullshit on the referee’s call, and jeering to distract the away team, his trumpet screeched the fight song’s melody. Arthur made a mental note to not sit next to Alfred for the next game, as an emerging ache hammered in his head.</p><p>First quarter passed by. As the clock ticked down to halftime, Arthur grew wearier. His arms quivered as he rose his trumpet, and he squinted to focus on his sheet music, a blur of black on white. Although the sky already began to sink beneath the school buildings, excess sweat coated his clammy skin under his layered uniform.</p><p><em>“Must be the nerves.” </em>On the stands overlooking the band sat Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland. Arthur averted his glimpse. Although the band had plenty of blond heads and blue and white uniforms, Mrs. Kirkland could pick Arthur out based on how his cap sat on his messy hair.</p><p>“Hey, you want some water?” </p><p>Arthur dizzily turned, almost falling when Alfred shoved a water bottle into his hand without waiting for a response.</p><p>“Dude. You ok?” </p><p>“Yes, I am fine.” Arthur insisted, though his stubborn glare lacked its usual sharpness. </p><p>“Your face is pale.” Alfred pointed.</p><p>“So? I was always pale. Not everyone is tanned like you, Alfred.”</p><p>Alfred slanted his lips.</p><p>“Fine. If it stops you from bugging me, I shall take a small drink.” Arthur squirted some water in the mouth before handing the water bottle down the row. Nausea swirled in his stomach. </p><p>The clock struck 00:00. As the football players strode off the field, the band left the stands. The overhead stadium’s lights stung Arthur’s eyes, worsening his headache. He wobbled with every light step.</p><p><em>“It’s just the nerves. Calm down.” </em>Arthur took a slow, large breath as the band waited at the field’s sidelines. </p><p>Led by the drum major, the band marched onto the field and began their show. Arthur dragged his heavy feet to his spots. The lights and audience seated on the stands blurred around him. Despite being in a marching band, the song felt distant from him.</p><p>Halfway through the first song, Arthur collapsed.   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welp, I finally finished this chapter. In this chapter, I hoped to give Arthur and Alfred's relationship a boost, as well as imply the dynamics between Arthur and his parents and Alfred with the trumpet section. I haven't come up with an official high school name, though the last-minute school mascot/name is the Globes.<br/>Also, sorry if I'm over-explaining in the context notes. I'm trying my best to make everything understandable for people who don't have a huge music background.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Invitations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation Notes:<br/>-Cento= (a) hundred</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Limbs heavy, Arthur could only lie on the field in his sweat-soaked uniform. The blurry world spun around and around. His head pulsed with every heavy drumbeat as the band’s melody rung in his ears. Legs stood in front of and marched around his fallen figure.</p><p>In the middle of the song, strong arms hoisted Arthur up. “Dude, you ok?” Alfred’s alarmed voice yelled above the trombones and drums. Supported by Alfred, Arthur staggered up to his feet, groaning and shutting his eyes. Alfred guided him to the sidelines. </p><p>“Arthur, dude!” Unable to contain his sickness, Arthur broke away from Alfred’s grasp. Tumbling onto the ground, he heaved, trying to expel the nauseated feeling. He only heaved out a dry choke, followed by hysterical coughs.</p><p>A hand touched his blistering forehead. “Heat exhaustion. Get him inside quickly!”</p><p>In the midst of his blistering haze, Arthur was led into an adjacent room. His uniform jacket was stripped off his body, leaving his arms and soggy T-shirt exposed to the cool air.</p><p>The air conditioner vroomed. Wearily opening his eyes, Arthur looked up at the tiled ceiling. The half-empty water bottle crinkled under his trembling hand. Outside, the band’s songs and audience’s applause roared, muffled by the colorless walls.</p><p>Arthur sighed and closed his eyes in defeat. <em>“Heat exhaustion on the first game. What bloody luck.”</em></p><p>The door squeaked open.</p><p>“Arthur? You ok?” Alfred said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.</p><p>Arthur’s half-lidded look trailed Alfred, who sat on a chair next to him. </p><p>“Are you feeling better?”</p><p>“I feel like absolute shite. But arguably, yes.” Arthur answered.</p><p>A small smile tugged Alfred’s lips. “That’s good. We got scared when you collapsed.”</p><p>“We?” Arthur furrowed his brows. “The band only continued playing. They didn’t halt for me.”</p><p>“Well, we can’t stop. That’s the rule.” Alfred explained. “We don’t break ranks and keep on performing until the end, no matter what happens.”</p><p>“Don’t break ranks?”</p><p>“Not break our drill formation.”</p><p>“Then why did you help me off the field in the middle of the first song?” </p><p>Alfred grinned sheepishly. “I thought you already know that I break rules a lot.”</p><p>“Of course. Why am I not surprised?”</p><p>Just then, the door opened. “Alfred? Mr. Edelstein is looking for you. He needs a first trumpet in the stands right now.” Francis said.</p><p>“Gotcha.” Alfred rose from his seat: “I’ll head over soon. Arthur? When you’re ready, come back with us.”</p><p>Arthur replied, “I’m not.”</p><p>Alfred halted, a step away from the door. “Not? Why dude?”</p><p>“I can’t.” Arthur crossed his arms.</p><p>“But you have to!”  </p><p>“Why are you so relentless? Why do you need me? You’re already good enough. You’re better than me! You know what you’re doing! You don’t even care about music! I’m a failure! Who faints during their first game like this? Oh, fucking shite!” Arthur groaned at the spark of pain, rubbing his pounding temple.</p><p>“But Arthur—!”</p><p>“Alfred, stop. Arthur,” Francis ordered sternly, before facing Arthur. “We could always use more instruments, first trumpets particularly. But if you’re not ready, don’t force yourself. Alfred can cover the whole part.”</p><p>Without retorting, Alfred sighed as he nodded in agreement.</p><p>“Drink lots of water.” Francis told Arthur before he and Alfred left the room. </p><p>“Look, I just want Arthur to enjoy his first game. He—.” The door cut Alfred off.</p><hr/><p><em>“So much for enjoying my first game.” </em>Arthur slammed the car door and locked his vehicle. <em>“What a memorable moment. I literally sat out the halftime performance and the rest of the game.”</em></p><p>Keys jingled ins Arthur’s hand as he opened the door. Light leaked from the kitchen and dining room into the shadowy living room. Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland’s voices whispered over clattering teacups. </p><p><em>“I don’t even want to know what Mum and Dad are discussing now.” </em>Arthur crept up the stairs, careful to not make a sound.</p><p>Once in his room, Arthur dumped his bag and trumpet in front of his bedstand and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress grunted under the sudden weight. Heart clenching, Arthur curled into a ball. His fingers dug into the soft covers and squeezed the soft fabric.  </p><p>
  <em>“It just had to happen during a game where Mum and Dad were watching. Why?”</em>
</p><p>Someone knocked on the door. “Arthur?”</p><p>Not a single response left Arthur’s mouth.</p><p>“I’m coming in, poppet.” </p><p>Arthur only shifted on his bed, turning his head so his mother could not see his face. </p><p>The sound of a plate and cup being placed on the bedstand was followed by the lamp clicking on. Warm orange light engulfed Arthur’s lying figure. The mattress dropped underneath another weight. Arthur barely moved, even when Mrs. Kirkland placed a gentle hand on his messy hair.</p><p>“Would you like to talk about it?” </p><p>Mrs. Kirkland failed to get her son’s response.</p><p>“Are you fine? I am here to listen.”</p><p>Arthur remained silence.</p><p>“Well then, keep it to yourself I suppose.” Mrs. Kirkland got off the bed. Before she left, she said, “I made you some scones and some tea. Eat it before it gets too cold.”</p><p>The door shut. Arthur remained in his position until a rumble vibrated from his book bag. The blankets crumpled under Arthur’s turning body. He dug his phone out.</p><p>
  <em>“Are you doing better mon cher?”</em>
</p><p><em>“Yes.” </em>Was Arthur’s short answer. As he waited for Francis’s response, he ate a scone and took a sip of tea. </p><p>
  <em>“Oh, tres bien!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did the band do well even without me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oui! For the most part. At least with...Alfred covering your part.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That git better have played well. He kept on begging me to come back to the band back there. How needy!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Just tolerate him and give him what he wants and he’ll leave you alone. You did see how the other bandsmen act around him, right?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“They are just as infuriated with that wanker as me. Why does he insist on sticking around? Does he know that he is being irritating? It’s like he’s pretending everything’s fine and dandy and everyone likes him!”</em>
</p><p>The speech bubble appeared and disappeared on the bottom left corner. <em>“Take your time.” </em>Arthur mentally said as if he was talking to Francis in person. He munched on his scones. <em>“Probably typing up an entire paragraph.”</em></p><p>Francis finished his response by the time Arthur drank the last drop of tea. Only crumbs remained on the plate. To Arthur’s surprised Francis’s text was brief.</p><p>
  <em>“Alfred is lonely. He knows that people don’t want him around, but he denies it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s all? I thought you were writing an entire novella!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s it. Again, just give into what he wants and he’ll go away. Don’t go too deep into it if you don’t want to.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Not a problem.”</em>
</p><p>Arthur scoffed. How could he, someone so embittered and grouchy, befriend someone like Alfred, even if Alfred rescued him from the football field hours ago? </p><p>Later, Arthur took the teacup and plate downstairs. His father was seated in the living room reading a novel in front of the television. Mr. Kirkland did not peer up from his book at the running faucet, clanging dishes, and water splashing down the drain. </p><p>
  <em>“Maybe I can make it back up before he notices me—.”</em>
</p><p>“Arthur?”</p><p>Arthur froze. His brows furrowed. His right foot was on the first step. </p><p>“Yes, Dad?”</p><p>“Come here.”</p><p>Fists clutching, Arthur sat down on the couch adjacent to his father. Mr. Kirkland adjusted his spectacles, which perched on the edge of his noses.</p><p>“How could you faint during a performance?” he asked sternly. “Don’t you know how to take care of yourself?”</p><p>“I’ve learnt my lesson.” Arthur responded. “I couldn’t help it. I—”</p><p>“You could have taken precautions. Out of all bandsmen present, my son, had to fall and sit out the rest of the game. His first game! Don’t you know how that makes your mother and I feel?”</p><p>“Let me take a guess, ashamed?” Arthur blurted out as he rose from his seat and glared, gaze darkened. “Everything that I do is for you and Mum!”</p><p>“For your mother and me? We just to care for you!”</p><p>“Care for me?” Arthur repeated in a sarcastic tone. “More like for <em>both of you</em>. I never heard you or Mum tell Allistor, Connor, and Dylan that you know what is best for them!”</p><p>“They are on a path. They know how to take care of themselves!” Mr. Kirkland argued back. As he stood up, the book tumbled off his lap onto the ground. Mr. Kirkland paid no heed. “You, on the other hand, are wandering off the trail! I swear, you are truly the black sheep of this family!”</p><p>Shock flashed through Arthur’s emerald eyes. Although Arthur maintained his frown, his lips began to quiver. Tears formed in his eyes, dulling their piercing glare. “Maybe you are right. I am the black sheep of this family.” He retorted, before hurrying away.</p><p>Mr. Kirkland could not answer, only able to watch his son stomp up the stairs. With a frustrated sigh, he picked up his book and lightly pinched the bridge of his nose.</p><p>
  <em>“Bloody hell, George. You had one damn job. Why couldn’t you just tell him? Oh, he resembles Victoria the most, yet he has my temper and stubbornness…”</em>
</p><hr/><p>With today being Monday, Arthur had no new music and no excuse to hide in the band room during lunch. Already losing his appetite, he kept his head down as voices passed him, each locked in their own dialogs.</p><p>From the corner of their eyes, the trumpets watched Arthur sit down two feet away from them alone. “Should we go up to him and tell him somethin’, mate?” Jett asked.</p><p>“Well, what’s the chance he’ll warm up to us? He can take care of himself.” Mathias whispered back, his answer earning nods. The trumpets turned their backs to Arthur, who brought out his lunch box.</p><p>“Damn it, Francis. Out of all days, you just need to get help on pre-calculus now! Hanging me out to dry in my own shame!” Arthur grumbled under his breath as he opened his box.</p><p>A ham and cheese sandwich, a banana, and some burnt scones. Absolutely delicious.</p><p>“Hey, dude!” Arthur looked up and furrowed his brows at Alfred, who just arrived from the lunchroom.</p><p>“Oh, you again.” Arthur said in a cold tone.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s me! You look pretty lonely! Mind if I sit down with you?”</p><p>“Well...” Alfred sat down before Arthur finished his sentence. Arthur sighed. “You don’t listen, do you?”</p><p>Alfred laughed. “On a serious note, do you really want me to sit with you, dude? Once when Matthew gets here, I’ll hang around and bug him instead.”</p><p><em>“It’s just for once. It wouldn’t hurt.” </em>Arthur assumed. “Perhaps. Take it as a thank-you note for saving me during the game.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Alfred’s smile fell. “Are you doing better dude?”</p><p>“Yes, I am fine now.” Arthur sighed. “I guess I must spray water in my mouth like a barbarian like the rest of you from now own. But seriously, thank you for helping me there. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been trampled by the others.”</p><p>“Well, not trampled. I think people would step around you unless if you were directly on their dot! But, no problem dude!”</p><p>As Arthur and Alfred spoke, the other trumpets pointed at the two. Their shifty eyes narrowing and brows crumpling, the trumpets huddled closer to each other. Hisses emitted from the circle.</p><p>“Alfred’s speaking to him.”</p><p>“Maybe Arthur would tell him to eff off! He’s a grouch anyway!”</p><p>“Should we tell Arthur?”</p><p>“Nah, let them be. Looks like Alfred won’t be coming along and bothering us anytime soon. Besides, who wants Arthur around? He’s just gonna sit around and be in his own world, that perfectionist.”</p><p>Neither Arthur or Alfred heard their section murmuring, as they were too far into their conversation about their favorite genre of music. </p><p>“Whoa, dude! I didn’t know you like rock! I thought you like classical music or somethin’!” </p><p>Arthur rolled his eyes. “After studying and practicing nothing but classical music, I have a distaste for them.”</p><p>“So, what kind of bands and singers do you listen to? AC/DC? Pink Floyd? Beatles? Queen? I like Queen! He’s one of my top favorites!” Alfred’s eyes shone like stars. </p><p>“I can listen to Queen’s songs forever. On the other hand, the Beatles are very good, though I think they are a tad overrated.” </p><p>“Yeah, I like some of their songs, but I don’t get the hype. Have you heard of Chemical Romance and Green Day?” Alfred asked.</p><p>“These names don’t ring a bell.”</p><p>“But you probably heard their songs before!” Alfred pondered for a moment. “Had you ever heard that song that starts off like, ‘Nah-nana-nah, nana-nah, nananananana!’?” </p><p>“Hey, Alfie!”</p><p>Matthew appeared seemingly out of nowhere.</p><p>“Dude, Mattie! How long were you standing there?” Alfred exclaimed.</p><p>Matthew sighed. “I just arrived. Is that the new kid in your section?”</p><p>“Yes, this is Arthur!” Alfred laughed heartily as he slapped Arthur in the back. “Meet the bestest cousin ever, Artie!”</p><p>Arthur winced before glaring at the taller blond. “You git! Don’t call me Artie!” His expression softened at Matthew. “Hello, I’m Arthur. I play first trumpet.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you. I play the mellophone.” Matthew sat down in front of Arthur and Alfred.</p><p>As Matthew took his lunch bag out, Feliciano and Lovino passed by. Feliciano, being his sweet and bubbly self, greeted with a large smile and a chirpy, “Ciao!”</p><p>“Hey, Feli! What’s up, dude!” Alfred replied with a hand wave.</p><p>“What’s up?” Feliciano looked confused. “Ummm… The sky?”</p><p>Lovino elbowed his younger brother in the ribs, earning a yelp, and grabbed Feliciano’s hand. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“But, what about—Ah!” Lovino pulled Feliciano away.</p><p>“I told you cento times. We ignore that bastard as much as possible!” Lovino hissed, giving a side-eyed glare at Alfred.</p><p>Deaf to Lovino’s words, Alfred smiled at the Italian brothers. “See you guys!”</p><p>“Oh, see you Alfred!” Feliciano called back as Lovino heaved him towards the alto saxophone section.</p><p>“Feliciano’s a cool guy!” Alfred turned and looked at Matthew’s lunch. “Dude, do you eat pancakes for every meal? You even brought some syrup packets!”</p><p>“Says the person who eats hamburgers every lunch.” Mischievous cornflower eyes glanced down at Alfred’s hamburger and fries.</p><p>“Hey! At least you can eat hamburgers for lunch and dinner!”</p><p>“There’s also all-day breakfasts at fast food restaurants.”</p><p>“Didn’t you say that these aren’t real pancakes, though?”</p><p>As the two cousins playfully bickered, Arthur could not help but smile. Normally, he would frown at this kind of silly argument. </p><p>
  <em>“Am I actually enjoying myself? No, snap out of it, Arthur Kirkland! Alfred is the most obnoxious git you’ve ever met! Don’t give in to him!”</em>
</p><p>Heavy huffs broke Arthur’s thoughts. </p><p>“Whoa, catch your breath!” Matthew set a gentle hand on Alfred, who took ragged, labored breaths.</p><p>“Ah...Haaah...Haaah…” Alfred panted. His right hand rested on his stomach.</p><p>“Is something the matter?” Arthur asked out of courtesy. <em>“That is what you get for being so loud and talkative!”</em></p><p>“Oh…” Alfred rose an index finger. “I... It’s nothing. Just...Just ran out of breath. Hah… Got pretty excited back there.”</p><p>“More like blabbering so much, you forgot to breathe.” Arthur remarked sarcastically. </p><p>“Ok…” Alfred took a deep breath. “I’m good now! I’m good now! Now,” Alfred smirked at Matthew. “Back to the argument.”</p><p>“Are you sure, Alfred?” A new, childlike voice asked, its soft yet threatening tone sending a chill down Arthur’s back.</p><p>Ivan leered down at Alfred, small smile failed to hide the burning irritation in his glowering amethyst eyes. A breeze whipped Ivan’s scarf, giving it a life on its own. Arthur and Matthew backed away, afraid that scarf might wrap around them like an anaconda. For the first time, Arthur saw Alfred frown.</p><p>“Fuck off, dude!” Alfred shouted, not backing down from Ivan. Heads turned at the shout.</p><p>The dark aura around Ivan thickened. “I was only checking on you.” Ivan said, his grin growing toothier and toothier. “If you yell and shout that loudly, you might pass out. If you’re very unlucky, you might even drop d—.”</p><p>Before the conflict could escalate, Yao, a snare drummer, hurried towards the scene. “That’s it, that’s it. Everyone stop this at once!” he ordered sternly. “Come, Ivan. Just leave them alone.”</p><p>Giving Alfred one last glare, Ivan followed Yao. Alfred crossed his arms defensively, releasing them once when Ivan was far enough.</p><p>“You guys ok?” he asked Arthur and Matthew.</p><p>“I’m fine.” Arthur said. Matthew nodded.</p><p>Other than Ivan’s confrontation, the rest of lunch went smoothy. With Alfred and Matthew around, time passed quickly. Before Arthur knew it, he put his empty lunchbox in his book bag and hoisted it over his shoulders.</p><p>“It was a pleasure spending time with you two.” Arthur said. </p><p>“Of course, anytime! If you want to drop by, feel free to! I still got a large list of artists to recommend!” Alfred replied. “See you at practice, dude!”</p><p>With a nod, Arthur headed off to class.</p><p>“Man, I hope Arthur sits with us more!” Alfred said.</p><p>“Yeah.” Matthew agreed. <em>“I haven’t seen someone else join Alfred for lunch before. It’s usually just me.”</em></p><p>A sudden memory twinkled in Matthew’s consciousness. </p><p>“Oh yeah, did you take your medicine yet?”</p><p>“Oh. I almost forgot! I’ll take them once when I get to class!” Alfred responded cheerfully. “Thanks for reminding me, bro!”</p><p>“Don’t forget. You remember what happened last time when you forgot to take them, right?” Matthew asked sternly. </p><p>“I know, I know!” Alfred waved a dismissive hand. “It was only a month ago when that happened! Don’t worry about it!”</p><p>“I’ll worry about it.”</p><hr/><p>Arthur told himself that he would never spend a second again with Alfred. Sitting with him during lunch that day was only part of business, a small thank-you for hauling him off that field. Afterwards, everything else should go as normal. Arthur would work on his music to prove himself while ignoring and tolerating Alfred’s foolish antics.</p><p><em>“I refuse to play along with Alfred’s delusions.” </em>Arthur vowed to himself. He never sugar-coated truth, no matter how bitter it was. While other bandsmen pretended to enjoy Alfred’s company when it was unavoidable, Arthur was firm in making Alfred know that he was not interested in becoming friends. The next time Alfred begged him to spend time with him during lunch, Arthur would be unafraid to sharp tongue to ward him away. Someone had to be the sacrificial black lamb to break the news to Alfred that he was not as popular as he thought. Again, besides Matthew, the other band kids would barely bat an eye if Arthur ever yelled at him that nobody liked him.</p><p>Despite his logical mind telling him, <em>“This time, I’ll decline this git’s invitation.”</em> moments beforehand, Arthur’s mouth and tongue moved on their own, voicing their acceptance of Alfred’s invite. Every annoying little detail that left Alfred’s blabbering mouth entered Arthur’s ears with ease. He could also play the trombone, mellophone, and tuba. He was interested in archology. He loved to transcribe his favorite songs. The next thing Arthur knew, he was waving goodbye to Alfred as he headed to his next class.</p><p>Pretty soon, Arthur’s logic became void of any thought of avoiding Alfred. Sometimes, he even approached Alfred before Alfred even noticed him. Like how Arthur allowed Alfred to barge into the practice room, Arthur accepted Alfred into his world. Alfred seemed to have a 6<sup>th</sup> sense that relayed to him whenever Arthur was inside the band room, not late from coming out of class. Ten minutes into practice, Alfred would barge into the practice room, asking Arthur if he could rehearse a little with him.</p><p>Unless Arthur voiced his objections, practices with Alfred always went into tangents. One minute ago, the two played measures 36-42 together. One minute later, Alfred rambled how the arrangement was completely awesome and how he could not wait to play it during halftime.</p><p>As childish Alfred was, Arthur could only nod and listen. The sharpest insults he could haul at Alfred’s short attention span and ridiculousness remained locked in Arthur’s mouth. Behind a neutral, deadpan face was a soft smile. <em>“We really must continue practicing, but I suppose we can take a break for five minutes.” </em>Arthur thought.</p><p>“Hey, Arthur?”</p><p>“Hm?” Arthur rose a brow.</p><p>“Sorry for going off topic. Let’s start practicing again.” Alfred picked up his trumpet and positioned its mouthpiece on his lips.</p><p>Arthur was stunned. “Oh, sure.”</p><p>
  <em>“He actually read the atmosphere!”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was a bit difficult to write. I promise that the next one will be more eventful!<br/>Even though it'll be a spoiler to the story, I added the warning tag just to be safe, as someone brought it up in a comment. I still don't want to give away the story, so more tags will appear as the story goes on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Meaning of Music</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation Notes:<br/>-Desole= I'm sorry<br/>Context Notes:<br/>-Homecoming is a tradition of welcoming back former students/members and celebrating a school's existence. It is popular in America. Also happens in Canada to a lesser extent.<br/>-William is New Zealand<br/>-Drum majors are leaders and representatives of marching bands. In high school bands, they carry out the band director's instructions, teach marching, and help run rehearsals. They also conduct during halftime shows, have their own showmanship during performances, and lead the band during parades.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur never considered attending school dances. If other male peers were attractive, they were too foolish and bone-headed for him to be an ideal date. In turn, who wanted to take a bland boy like him to a dance?</p><p>Though, being in the school band offered new social opportunities.</p><p>“Me? Go to the homecoming dance?” Arthur narrowed his eyes into a glare, his English textbook trembling in his arms. “Over my dead body.” He said, slamming the locker door shut.</p><p>Francis flinched at the bang. “Arthur, you never went before! You have to go this year!”</p><p>“I don’t have anyone to go with. And I highly doubt anyone would ask me to be their charming date.” Arthur replied, rolling sarcasm off his tongue.</p><p>“Well, you have the entire band to go with. I know that most people are going.” Francis slung his arm around Arthur. Arthur’s body tensed. “Sure, some of them might have dates, but most of them are still going without a partner. Come on, Arthur. What else are you going to do on a Saturday night?”</p><p>“Sit at home and do absolutely nothing.” Arthur answered with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.”</p><p>Thus, at the beginning of lunch, Arthur and Francis hurried to the student store, where the line for the tickets wrapped around the building’s corner.</p><p>The homecoming game started differently from other football games. After warming up outside the band room, the band went to the back of the school where the parade was set up. Students, teachers, and volunteers added the last-minute finishing touches to the floats, each attached to trucks. Banners draped across vehicles. The elected homecoming kings and queens’ crowns and tiaras sparkled in the sunlight as they mounted onto the roofless cars. </p><p>The band’s block was placed at the front of the parade. “Everyone, remain in your places.” Mr. Edelstein instructed. </p><p>The band kids obeyed most of his orders. Most of them. Ivan went from his spot in the back to the center of the band, barging into Toris, Eduand, and Raivis’s circle, much to the three woodwinds’ discomfort. Ludwig ignored Feliciano’s pleas as he dragged Feliciano away from the cheerleaders.</p><p>“Come on, Ludwig!” Feliciano whined. “I just wanted to say ciao to the bellas!”</p><p>“Nein. Stay in your spot.” Ludwig bluntly replied.</p><p>“But Francis is doing it!” Feliciano pointed.</p><p>Francis brushed his wavy platinum-blond hair behind his ears and beamed at the head cheerleader. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. A fine day for a parade, isn’t it? You remind me of the sun: extremely hot.”</p><p>Francis’s wink made the cheerleader’s cheeks flush, earning a giggle from her peers. </p><p>Gilbert and Antonio snickered at Francis’s pick-up line. Nearby, Arthur rolled his eyes. “Bloody frog.” He grumbled.</p><p>On Arthur’s right was an empty spot occupied by Jett moments ago; the fellow trumpet ran off to speak with William, a New Zealander who played the mellophone. To his left was another gap between him and Mathias.</p><p><em>“Not surprised that Alfred ran off somewhere.”</em> Arthur thought.</p><p>“Is that him?” </p><p>Arthur picked up at the voice. From the corner of his eyes, a middle-aged woman pointed at him.</p><p>“He looks like that boy who was talented in music! You know, the one the newspaper and magazines talked about all the time a few years ago?”</p><p>Cheeks growing cold with fear, Arthur tightened his grip on his trumpet, daring not to face the women. </p><p>“Yes, the one that quitted. I wonder what made him join his school’s band. That is, if that student is him.”</p><p>
  <em>“They know. Everyone will know who I am.”</em>
</p><p>“Yo, Arthur!”</p><p>Arthur jumped. “Alfred! You scared the wits out of me!” He glowered at the taller blond. “Where were you?”</p><p>“Just checking out the floats.” Alfred laughed. “You were staring out into space! Excited for this parade?”</p><p>“Excited? Well, I actually…” Arthur’s voice trailed off. How could he admit to Alfred that he was nervous and scared? “I don’t know. But I know that I am definitely not excited.” Arthur crossed his arms.</p><p>Alfred’s jaw dropped. “How can you say you’re not excited, dude? We get to march in the parade and play music with everyone and the crowd got eyes on us!</p><p>“The crowd has eyes on us. That is my biggest concern.”</p><p>“Let me guess, are you scared?”</p><p>“Scared? No!” Arthur objected in a sharp voice. </p><p>“Then play your heart out on the trumpet! And also,” Alfred leaned in Arthur’s ear. Arthur raised a suspicious brow and frowned. “No one will notice and care if you make a mistake. If you did, they won’t know who did it.”</p><p>“No one will notice and care if I make a mistake.” Arthur repeated in a mocking tone. “Of course, you would say something like that!”</p><p>“Dude, you gotta loosen up! I was scared too during my first parade! You know, anything can happen! But after that I found out that it wasn’t that bad! Looking back, I really enjoyed it! Ah, the fond memories, dude.”</p><p>“Hmph. I’ll try.” Arthur would not dare make a mistake, not on his own life and self-image. Though, a question formed in the back of his head. </p><p>When was the last time he enjoyed music for himself, free from other’s expectations?</p><p>Arthur’s thoughts were cut off by Mr. Edelstein’s whistle. Francis blew a kiss at the cheerleaders as he strolled back to his spot in between a smiling Antonio and snickering Gilbert. When Ivan returned to the back of the block, Toris, Eduard, and Raivis breathed a sigh of relief, shaking tight grasps on their tenor sax, clarinet, and flute relaxed.</p><p><em>“At least there’s another body present to conceal me.” </em>Arthur thought when Jett darted back to his spot.</p><p>Being the band director’s son, it was no surprise that Roderich had the music aptitude to be the band’s leader and representative. Roderich, garbed in his blue tailcoat uniform and twirling his drum major mace, blew a command with his whistle before leading the band down the main street. Blue and white confetti sprinkled onto the street. Fingers pointed at the band, the class floats, and the notable figures seated in the cars. </p><p>Focused on playing the fight song with his peers, any worries about being recognized in the crowd slipped out of Arthur’s thoughts. Even if someone caught a glimpse of him, he vanished the sea of uniforms and instruments. </p><p>The parade ended at the stadium. After setting their instruments down, the band kids went their separate ways. Arthur was the only bandsmen set on remaining in the bleachers until the game began. He would have done so if Alfred did not drag him to the vendors to get food.</p><p>Thirty minutes later, the homecoming game began. The stadium emitted twice the amount of energy from the first game. Arthur assumed that the band was also twice as lively and excited, though he eventually discovered it was just Alfred’s cheers shouting into his ears. Like the first game, Arthur was the unfortunate buffer zone between Alfred and the rest of the trumpet section.</p><p>During the halftime performance, the announcer presented this year’s homecoming kings and queens as the band performed on the field. The game ended with a landslide victory for the home team. </p><p>Yet, homecoming did not end with the game. It continued into Saturday night.</p><hr/><p>Scowling, Arthur threw open the door. After putting his blazer on, he locked his car and checked his phone.</p><p><em>“Damn frog still hasn’t responded!”</em> Arthur huffed as he slipped his phone into his blazer’s pocket.</p><p>Originally, Arthur was just going to attend the dance in his favorite green dress shirt and black trousers. However, his mother caught him before he could sneak out the front door. She sent him back to his room and refused to let him out until he came out in a <em>vest </em>and a <em>tie</em>. As if Arthur was still not wearing enough layers, Mrs. Kirkland shoved the black blazer into his arms before he hurried out. By the time Arthur shot Francis the message and drove off the driveway, he was ten minutes late for the beginning of the dance.</p><p>The streetlights’ orange blows shined off Arthur’s dress shoes as he hurried past the rows of cars. Once at the gym’s entrance, he showed his ticket at the watchman, who granted his entry with a nod.</p><p>Blue, white, purple, and teal strobe lights lit the floor. Coupled students held their dates in their arms and swayed with the pop music’s rhythm, lips meeting and noses nuzzled against each other occasionally. The singles stayed within their own friend circles and danced. Some sat at the tables or stood around the snacks area socializing.</p><p>An indigo dress shirt and white blazer caught Arthur’s searching gaze. Arthur furrowed his brows. Francis was speaking to a girl with short dirty-blond hair and teal eyes.</p><p>“So, your name is Lisa, am I correct?” Francis smiled, making the girl smile back and blush.</p><p>Lisa fiddled with her dress’s white tulle skirt. “Yes, it is. And you are…?”</p><p>“Francis!” Arthur stomped the two.</p><p>“Oh, bonjour Arthur! Lisa, this is mon ami Arthur.” Francis introduced. </p><p>“You didn’t respond to my messages!”</p><p>“Oh. Desole. I must’ve gotten distracted.”</p><p>“Yes, obviously.” Arthur turned to Lisa. “Hello, my name is Arthur. Hope my friend of a frog here didn’t bother you too much.”</p><p>Lisa giggled. “It’s nice meeting you, Arthur.”</p><p>Francis spoke up. “So, would you like me to take you to the dance floor?”</p><p>Lisa looked unsure. “Well, I have two left feet…”</p><p>“Don’t worry! We’ll learn together.”</p><p><em>“Francis is preoccupied.” </em>Arthur left the two alone without a word, beginning his aimless wander around the room in search for something to do. Nothing caught his interest. The red punch could never beat tea. Arthur could buy potato chips and cookies at the grocery store any time. Besides, who knew how many filthy hands touched them?</p><p> The other band kids already occupied themselves with each other. Feliciano danced with Ludwig on the dance floor, pulling the larger male closer into his arms. Despite Ludwig’s hesitation and stiff movements, Feliciano smiled like he was having the time of his life. </p><p>“Oh, Kiku! Join us!” Feliciano shouted to the quiet Japanese boy watching them from the sidelines.</p><p>“No, Feliciano. I can’t—Whoa!” Kiki exclaimed as Feliciano dragged him onto the dance floor.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Ludwig is also learning!” Feliciano chirped.</p><p>Watching Feliciano and his friends, an idea lit in Antonio’s head. He turned to Lovi with a goofy grin. “Hey Lovi, let’s dance!”</p><p>“No! Let go of me, bastard!” Lovino struggled against Antonio’s pull, his yell barely heard over the blasting music. </p><p>“Aw, your face is as red as a tomato!”</p><p>Elizabeta giggled at Antonio and Lovino’s antics, remarking how cute they were to Roderich as they swayed in the music. Half-listening to his girlfriend, Roderich grimaced at Mathias, Jett, and William’s jerky, awkward dance moves. The three chortling brass players danced without a care about the strange looks they received. Gilbert would have joined them if he was not busy giving Matthew smooches on the cheek. </p><p>Arthur rose a brow.<em> “When did Gilbert ask out Matthew? I wonder where is Alfred.” </em></p><p>Arthur circled around the room again and again. The same people doing the same thing passed him again and again. The air grew warmer and thicker with body heat, even after Arthur took off his blazer.</p><p><em>“God, it’s too damn stuffy in here.” </em>Without a second thought, Arthur headed out the gym, leaving the lights and rumbling music behind.</p><p>According to Arthur’s phone, only thirty minutes passed. </p><p><em>“Might as well leave.” </em>Arthur sighed. <em>“There’s no place for me in that silly dance. I would die of boredom if I stay for another hour and a half!”</em></p><p>As Arthur strolled towards the parking lot, he halted at lone figure sat on the sidewalk curb. A bomber jacket and blue collared shirt adorned the figure’s hunched body, and a familiar irritating cowlick protruded from a mop of straw-blond hair.</p><p><em>“What is he doing out here alone?” </em>Arthur wondered before he speaking up, “Alfred? Is that you?”</p><p>Alfred jumped and whipped his head around. “Oh, what’s up Artie!”</p><p>“Don’t call me Artie! I’ve told you several times!” Arthur crossed his arms. “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you supposed to enjoy the dance right now?” </p><p>“I can ask the same question for you.”</p><p>“Touché. I can’t dance. I don’t have a date. I could only wander around like a phantom.”</p><p>“Hey, same here dude!” Alfred laughed. “I thought it’ll be worth going this year, but it’s the same as last year! Well, not really. Matthew hung around me during the first two years, but now he and Gilbert are—.” Alfred’s mouth clamped shut. He uneasily chuckled. “Uh, I shouldn’t say too much now.”</p><p>“Dating. I saw them. No need to be so secretive. What are you up to now?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I was thinking of grabbing something from McDonald’s soon.” Arthur wrinkled his nose at the mentioning of the disgusting fast-food restaurant. “Then walk back home. What about you?”</p><p>“The only thing I can do other than stand around here is return home. But I don’t know.” Arthur sighed. “I don’t want to return home yet.”</p><p>“Maybe you can tag along with me.” Alfred suggested. “McDonald’s isn’t that far from here.”</p><p>“No. I’m having none of their sickening food!” Arthur frowned.</p><p>“Well, you don’t have to get anything. I won’t judge.” </p><p>Arthur looked across the parking lot and back to Alfred. “Oh, fine. I’ll come with you.” he sighed. “Lead the way.</p><hr/><p>The kitchen clattered, as fries and burger patties sizzled, and workers stacked burgers and dumped food into brown paper bags, hurrying to the pick-up window. Although all the tables and chairs were empty, Arthur told Alfred he could not bear the strong smell of oil and grease, a comment Alfred teased Arthur about but took into consideration. After picking up their order, Alfred walked out the McDonald’s with a cheeseburger meal and twenty chicken nuggets. Arthur only followed with a small cup of tea in his hands.</p><p><em>“McDonald’s food is low quality, especially their tea.” </em>Arthur grimly thought as he and Alfred sat down in the outside seating. <em>“But tea is better than soda.”</em></p><p>“Hey,” Alfred started when he opened a carton of chicken nuggets. “Feel free to have any. I got some extra nuggets if you change your mind.”</p><p>“Oh, no need to.” Arthur scoffed. Though, he barely ate anything before running off to the dance. Admitting defeat, Arthur took a few nuggets, nodding to feign interest in video games, a topic Alfred blabbered nonstop about.</p><p>“By the way dude, why did you join band?”</p><p>Arthur stopped chewing, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. Staring, he swallowed slowly. “Well, I…Francis convinced me to. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Just wondering.” Alfred said in between bites. “You’re pretty good, so I was wondering why someone as good as you didn’t start freshman year. I’ve been thinking about it since I saw you, but kept on forgetting to ask.”</p><p>“I just didn’t consider joining.” Arthur sipped his tea. </p><p>“Even though you’re good? You must enjoy music if you’re good at playing the trumpet.”</p><p>“Enjoy? No. I absolutely loathe music.”</p><p>Alfred gave Arthur a strange look. “Then why did you still join, dude? Even if Francis convinced you, if you hate music that much then you wouldn’t have joined.”</p><p>The lights hanging over the two’s heads reflected in Alfred’s large blue eyes and on his glasses. Not a single hint of malice darkened his gaze. On the table, Arthur rolled his hands into soft fists, averting his eyes at his tea.</p><p><em>“He probably knows. Everyone should know about me by now. He’s just not mentioning it.” </em>Arthur thought before starting with a question. “Do you remember hearing about a music prodigy in our town?” </p><p>“Kinda? Mom and Dad talked about it a few times when I was a kid. Can’t remember a lot. Why?”</p><p>“That prodigy was me.”</p><p>Arthur told Alfred how he became very interested in music during his childhood, how his parents pressured him to perform in all these gigs and win all the competitions, how he lost his first competition that very night, and how his relationship with his parents were strained, intensified by his older brothers’ recent adcances. As he explained, Arthur held his blazer closer to himself as if a wind of shame would rip it off his body. This was ridiculous. He should not complain to the most disliked classmate in band who he only knew for a few weeks.</p><p>Yet, no matter how bitter Arthur’s tone grew and how his shaking voice cracked at times, Alfred always set his eyes on him, expression remaining calm and neutral. </p><p>“And that’s why I joined the band. Just to prove myself that I’m still worthwhile.” Arthur solemnly concluded. </p><p>“Wow.” Alfred softly said. “I didn’t know that happened to you, dude. I’m sorry that happened to you, man.”</p><p>“Couldn’t be helped, I suppose.” Arthur sighed.</p><p>“Well…” Alfred paused. With a quizzingly look, he took a strip of fry. In between bites, he said, “You know, you’re not alone in this. People make fools out of themselves all the time. Like what I did when I was a kid!”</p><p>“Not surprised.” Arthur replied dryly.</p><p>“No, really! It was like your story! I totally screwed up during a competition, dude!” </p><p><em>“He sounds pretty proud of losing a competition.” </em>Arthur remarked to himself. </p><p>Alfred began his tale. “I was like you. I got pretty good at playing the trumpet, and my parents wanted to show it off to people. So, without asking me, they signed me up for a competition. They expected me to win the whole thing, I bet.”</p><p>“Though,” Alfred smiled as he shook his head. “The thing is I was only five or six. I didn’t know what competitions were like. All they told me was to play my best. I don’t remember what I played, but I listened to Mom and Dad. I just played and had fun with it. In the end, I didn’t win anything. Apparently, it was because I didn’t play the piece how it was written.” Alfred pouted before his frown lifted into a smile. “I remember being sad. Mom and Dad were probably disappointed back there. But the thing is, they never told me that I was a bad musician or something like that. After that, they asked me if I wanted to enter other competitions. I said no, and they never forced me to. After that, I just performed whenever and however I wanted. Even if I was a prodigy like you, they’ll probably do the same thing.”</p><p><em>“Lucky Alfred. Either way, he has the courage to bounce back like that.” </em>Arthur had a newfound respect for the now not-so-obnoxious American. However, one question remained.</p><p>“You’re not a prodigy?” Arthur rose a brow.</p><p>“No, I’m not a prodigy. Why you ask dude?” </p><p> “You play so well, and I heard that you have absolute pitch.”</p><p>“Nah, I don’t.” Alfred scratched the back of his head. “Don’t care much about absolute pitch and all the fancy stuff. But, thanks. I knew somewhere, underneath all that grouchiness, you know that I’m good at the trumpet.” He teased.</p><p>“Ugh, you’re such a braggart.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Since you already asked me, why did you join band? Tell me your views on music.”</p><p>“Eh, it’s fun. I like music.”</p><p>“Then what does music mean to you?”</p><p>Alfred blinked.</p><p>“Sorry for the abrupt complex question.” Arthur apologized. “It was sudden.”</p><p>“No, I like that question. Let’s see…” Alfred pondered for a few moments. “It’s hard to explain, dude. Music’s something that you can enjoy alone or with other people. It’s something that can draw people together.”</p><p>For a second, Arthur thought he saw sadness glimmering in Alfred’s eyes.</p><p>“Even if you play music with or for other people, in the end, music is done only for the musician. It’s something every person defines differently. So, yeah.” Alfred shrugged. “If you wanna be involved in music, do it for yourself or anyone you care about.”</p><p>“I see.” Arthur said. “Then how do you enjoy music?”</p><p>“Enjoy? That’s a hard answer. It kinda comes to me. It’s like defining music your way. It’s only something that you can find by yourself.”</p><p>“How did you find it?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It just comes to me. With music, I get all loosened up and I get lost. I don’t think of anything but just playing. Nothing else.” Alfred dumped his trash into the garbage can. “What time is it now?”</p><p>“10:19. That dance is still going, I guess.”</p><p>“Eh, I’m probably gonna head home. There’s nothing to do there. I don’t want to go back to the dance.”</p><p>“Same here.” Although he did not finish the tea, Arthur threw it away, not wanting to drink the cold, disgusting liquid. “How far is your house? I can drive you back, but we have to walk back to the school parking lot.”</p><p>Alfred shook his head and pointed down the street heading towards Arthur’s neighborhood. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s just a few blocks down.”</p><p>
  <em>“He lives around my area? I’ve never seen him around before.”</em>
</p><p>“So, nice hanging out with you, Arthur!” Alfred said as he began to walk away. “You ok with walking back on your own?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine. I’m not a damsel. You?”</p><p>“I’ll be good! Thanks! Well, see you on Monday, dude! Drive safe!”</p><p>Alfred turned around. Before Arthur could head in the opposite direction, he whisked his head around. “Oh, almost forgot! Alfred?”</p><p>“Yeah, what’s up?”</p><p>Arthur’s fists clenched softly. “Why do you speak to me? Someone who is so aloof and distant from everyone?”</p><p>Alfred paused. Arthur’s nails dug into his palms.</p><p>“Well, it’s because you looked unhappy.” Alfred answered, “It hurts to see when someone else is lonely.”</p><p>
  <em>“Lonely just like me.” </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Competition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Context Notes:<br/>-Spats are footwear accessories worn around the ankles.<br/>-According to friends who played the bass drum, it's difficult to see ahead with the bass drum on.</p><p>For people who have been reading the story before this chapter was added, there's some minor changes in details:<br/>-Mr. Thompson the band director is now named Mr. Edelstein. Not to be mistaken for Roderich. He is Roderich's father. Changed names before I didn't feel satisfied with the original name.<br/>-The high school Arthur and his friends goes to is Global High School. Just wanted to point it out if it was not made clear already.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Week after week, football games came and went. Every time he placed his trumpet’s mouthpiece against his lips—on the field, seated in the band room, and within his bedroom’s walls—Arthur sought to find enjoyment in music. Though, he sometimes stared at his case for five minutes before taking out his trumpet, its frame weighting heavily in his hands, and its shiny brass coating wearing his eyes. If he forgot the articulations and dynamics for a measure during memorization, Arthur would cease playing and sigh in frustration as he whipped out to take a peek at his sheet music for the twentieth time. Enjoyment only came from the heart, not from the brain.</p><p>However, the brain played its role in determining what made activities enjoyable to people, a determination that came naturally, not conditionally hardwired like Arthur’s perfectionist tendencies.</p><p><em>“Perhaps if I ask some of my fellow classmates, I might get a better understanding on enjoying music.” </em>Arthur thought as he walked towards the football stadium with Francis, who chuckled at a shouting Gilbert chasing a sniggering Antonio for his tennis ball-sized canary plush.</p><p>Much to Arthur’s frustration, the other band kids’ answers complicated his search of enjoyment in music. No matter how simplistic or complicated their own responses were, all answers were just reworded sentences related to the everyday statement, “I just like music.”</p><p>“Well, it’s something I like doing.” Mathias said before practice began as he oiled his valves. “Nothing that complicated.”</p><p>“Mate, it’s fun!” Jett opened his mouth to explain his claim, only to be cut off by Mr. Edelstein’s “Reset!”</p><p>“It’s something that I enjoy doing with other people, even if I’m not in the center of attention.” Matthew stated as he handed Arthur a water bottle.</p><p>“Why I like music?” Feliciano paused and placed a finger on his lips. “I don’t know! It’s fun and I like playing my alto saxophone with everyone!” </p><p>“It’s a chance for me to rock out with my music skills!” Gilbert chortled before making a whimsical sound with his tenor sax. “You got anything to say, Antonio?”</p><p>“Well, when I play music, I usually play it with everyone I love to be with!” Antonio smiled, darting his eyes towards Lovino, who ignored the conversation as he put away his alto sax. “Like Lovi here!”</p><p>Lovino looked up at Antonio with a glower. “Oi! Shut up, bastard!”</p><p>The only answer that provided Arthur some insight was Francis’s.</p><p>“Like what I said before, it’s a chance for me to spend time with mes amis.” Francis said as he and Arthur stood in front of their cars, about to head home. Unlike Arthur’s black vehicle, the setting sun turned Francis’s silvery car into a gradient of orange, yellow, red, and blue. “Why don’t you search for enjoyment with other people not just for yourself, non?”</p><hr/><p>Arthur was not freed from competition when he joined the band. fall quarter, the Global High Band participated in three competitions held in the state. This year, they won first place in the first two competitions with flying colors. However, the third and last competition was always infamous among the band for having the toughest competitors. If the Globes did not lose to West Forest High, they lost to Willow Grove High or, if not always, their rivals Paradale High.</p><p>Every little detail mattered. On the field with his echoey megaphone atop the ladder, Mr. Edelstein picked out every little flaw in the band’s performances. The alto saxophones were sharp. The low brass instruments were dragging. One of the cymbals was not paying attention and missed their cue. The trumpets were at piano, not forte. The flutes and clarinets were supposed to be playing at forte, not piano. During their 8<sup>th</sup> period class, the band cringed at the video recordings of their practices. Ludwig facepalmed at his steps being out of synch with the rest of the band’s. Feliciano whimpered. Like usual, he was a step away from his designated spot. Every breathed a sigh of relief when Elizabeta’s trombone missed the back of Ivan’s sousaphone by inches.</p><p>At lunch, the large circle of band kids sitting in front of the band shrank. If they were not hurriedly shoving food down their mouths, they were in the band room setting up their instruments. Two practice rooms could only accommodate two sections at most, leaving the other bandsmen to practice their music elsewhere.</p><p>One day, Arthur arrived a minute too late to call shots on the practice rooms, both occupied by muffled honking trombones or squeaking clarinets. The percussion instruments took up half the band room. In the corner, Ivan tooted his sousaphone ominously behind the baritones. Matthew, the sole mellophone who showed up to his section’s sectionals, spoke to Gilbert and Francis as they set their instruments together.</p><p><em>“Looks like it’s outdoor practice for me.”</em> Outside, a raucous trumpet drew Arthur’s attention. Behind the building, Alfred warmed up on his trumpet before starting practicing the music.</p><p>Arthur rounded the corner. “Alfred?”</p><p>“Oh! Hey, what’s up, Artie—I mean, Arthur?” Alfred greeted cheerfully.</p><p>“Nothing much. The entire band room is occupied, so I have no choice but to practice out here. Mind if I join you?”</p><p>“Go ahead! I don’t mind! I’m always the one bothering you to join you!”</p><p>After Arthur’s warm up, the two first trumpet players transitioned to the music.</p><p>Alfred tsked and arched his brows. “Man, this looks so hard. How are you feeling about this?”</p><p>Arthur peaked at his sheet music. “It’s typical business for me. Brings me back to the time when I used to compete in all these music competitions.”</p><p>“So, you’re not worried?”</p><p>“Not one bit.”</p><p>Being the music for the most competitive competition, it was no surprise that they were difficult to play. Within ten minutes, Alfred’s forced enthusiasm grew weary and hindered. Arthur, behind his stoic expression, bit his tongue, resisting the urge to let out a curse, rip the sheet music into shreds, and toss it into the nearest garbage can. His fingers impatiently fiddled with the valves during break between intervals, and his grip tightened on his trumpet. </p><p>“Hey, dude.” Alfred turned off the metronome on Arthur’s phone. “Let’s take a break for a while.”</p><p>Arthur insisted, “I’m not exhausted, Alfred. We can continue.”</p><p>“Well, I’m starting to feel kinda frustrated, and I got the feeling if we try to force it, we’re just going to get angrier and go nowhere.”</p><p>“That’s a reasonable point.” </p><p>“So, break for five minutes?”</p><p>“Sure. I’ll be back. I’m fetching some water.”  </p><p>Drumsticks rattled on snare drums, and mallets thundered on bass drums, reverberating off the walls. As he exited the room, Arthur set his free hand and water bottle over his ears.</p><p>Other instruments sections and individual band kids used the outside quad area as their practice space. The flutists sat crisscrossed underneath the shades of a tree, blurry eyes on their music. Adjacent to them on a bench was Francis and a dark-skinned tenor saxophone freshman. As her foot tapped the ground anxiously, her fingers fidgeted with her long brown pigtails.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Michelle. It may be difficult, but I believe you can do this. You have everyone who supports you, including big brother Francis here!”</p><p>Francis’s chuckle and pat on the back lifted a weak yet natural smile on Michelle’s face. In the distance, Lovino’s livid rants about how much he hated the music and competition turned heads from neighboring instrument sections.</p><p>“I HATE THESE PARTS!” he roared.</p><p>“Lovino, please calm down!” Kiku’s face flushed pink from the unwanted attention from both band kids and random passing students. “It’s just a song!”</p><p>“Si, a song.” Sarcasm dripped off Lovino’s words like poison. “A song we have to PLAY FOR THE TOUGHEST COMPETITION FOR THIS YEAR!”</p><p>“Oh, Lovi! Don’t worry!” Feliciano chirped, unfrazzled by his fratello’s outburst. “You’re get it soon enough! Even I mess up sometimes!”</p><p>“But I can’t! I’m such a shitty musiciaaaaan!” Lovino broke down into tears. </p><p>Feliciano hugged Lovino as Kiku averted his eyes from the strange looks. </p><p><em>“Everyone is stressed out. That’s typical business.” </em>Arthur supposed as he rounded the building, skidding to a halt at a sound that seemed to be a cross between a giggling sheep and a dying goat.</p><p>
  <em>“Fahahahaha!”</em>
</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>Baby blue eyes peered at Arthur. Behind a trumpet mouthpiece, a trembling snickering grin widened. Alfred’s pink wing cheeks stung. </p><p>“Was that you?” Frowning, Arthur rose a brow.</p><p>“Yeah, dude!” Alfred snorted. “Wanna learn how to play it?”</p><p>“No. We must get back to practice!”</p><p>“But we’re only taking a five-minute break! I called it!” Alfred checked his phone. “We got two minutes left! That’s enough time to learn it!”</p><p>Arthur sighed. “Fine, fine. If it’ll make you focus for the rest of this session, we may spare a few minutes learning this silly sound.”</p><p>“Ok, all right! So, put your trumpet on like this.”</p><p>“Mmmm hmmm.” Arthur rose a brow. Although he left his trumpet in the shade, the mouthpiece was warm against his lips.</p><p>“Then blow into it and flicker your tongue around in your mouth!”</p><p>“My tongue?” Arthur’s brow rose higher.</p><p>“Yeah, like behind your teeth! Up and down.”</p><p>“Okay…” Knitting his brows lightly, Arthur blew into his trumpet, tongue flapping against the spaces behind his upper and lower teeth. A weak sputter fluttered out the ball. </p><p>Alfred snorted. “Keep on going! Don’t use your entire tongue! Use the tip of it!”</p><p>Nodding with an eyeroll, Arthur attempted again. He took a deep breath.</p><p>
  <em>“Bwa-wawawawa!”</em>
</p><p>Arthur’s brows rose with his astonished eyes. Alfred held back a hysterical laugh.</p><p>“Dude, dude! Do that again!”</p><p>“Will do what you say.” Arthur spoke through the trumpet as he inhaled.</p><p>
  <em>“Bwa-wawawawa!”</em>
</p><p>“Pfft!” Alfred’s teeth dug into his lips. “Dude, that sounds like a crazy duck!” As laughter built up in his shaking chest. Alfred replayed the noise he made earlier.</p><p>
  <em>“Fahahahaha!”</em>
</p><p>Arthur’s hand jolted up to cover his mouth. A loud snort huffed through his nose.</p><p>
  <em>“Bwa-wawawawa!”</em>
</p><p>A snicker hitched in Alfred’s throat.</p><p>
  <em>“Fahahahaha!”</em>
</p><p>Arthur’s lips stretched across his face. The apples of his puffy cheeks pinkened.</p><p> <em>“Bwa-wawawawa!”</em></p><p>Tears gathered at the corners of Alfred’s eyes.  </p><p>
  <em>“Fahahahaha!”</em>
</p><p><em>“Bwa-wawawa—</em>AAHAHA!”</p><p>Alfred’s laughter rang out. His body shaking wildly, Arthur finally released the laugh held back in his cramping stomach. The two fell against the walls as they chortled and wheezed, backs sliding down as their bottoms met the ground.</p><p>“Ah…hah…hah…” Arthur set a hand on his stomach as he gasped to catch his breath, mouth open wide and showing his white teeth. “Ok…I think…Hah…It’s best if we…stop…hah…stop now.”</p><p>“You’re right, you’re right...Ah…” Alfred chuckled as his memories replayed the funny trumpet noises. “Let’s start again. That’s…That’s over our break! Are you ready?”</p><p>“More than ready.”</p><p>Alfred’s lingering cheeriness was not limited to Arthur; he freely shared his excitement with the rest of the band. At the beginning of practice, he strode onto the field with a bounce in his steps and a wide grin. He exclaimed “Set!” as he straightened his back and placed his trumpet on his mouth, eyes on the front of the field. His voice boomed, “Reset!” as he skipped around his peers, some who grumbled about how complex the drill was and occupied with perfecting their individual performance. </p><p>Alfred’s cheerful antics reserved fatigued stares and annoyed frowns from his peers. </p><p>
  <em>“Why can’t he take anything seriously?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We’re gonna face the toughest schools in that competition! Doesn’t he know that?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Being blissfully unaware of fear is some kind of virtue, I guess.”</em>
</p><p>To Arthur’s logical brain, a brain that guided him through the competition and concerts during his childhood, his fellow bandsmen’s complaints were valid. The whole band was judged as a whole, and every individual mattered. If Alfred did not focus during practice, he might carry his unfixed errors to the competition. One point might make or break the place the Globes would attain.</p><p>At the same time, Arthur could not help but smile at Alfred. With him, the growing anxieties regarding the approaching competition did not weigh heavily on his heart and mind.</p><hr/><p>The day of the competition arrived. On Saturday morning, Arthur slammed his ringing alarm clock off. Blurry-eyed, he trudged to the bathroom, mumbling to himself that he never intended to sign up for getting up at six in the morning on a weekend. Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland were still asleep, so Arthur finally had a peaceful breakfast to himself for once. </p><p>When Arthur stepped inside the band room at seven, he was nearly run over by a case containing a bass drum. </p><p>“Make room!” Ludwig barked. “Verdammt, be careful! I almost hit you with my drum!”</p><p>“So sorry.” Arthur mumbled quickly as he made way for the bass drummer, cautiously peering through the doorway before slipping inside. Students emerged from the uniform room, each clothed in their uniform’s blue bibbers and band T-shirt. Their hands wrapped around a hanger protruding from a uniform bag holding their jacket and their instrument cases. </p><p>“Excuse me, excuse me.” Kiku muttered as he slipped around his peers and stepped over the instrument cases towards his locker to fetch his saxophone. His bibber seemed to be too large for him despite being the smallest size. </p><p>“Don’t forget everything! Sunglasses, hats, spats, and gloves!” Elizabeta shouted over the slamming lockers and clicking straps. White spats wrapped around ankles, tightening with the buttons’ pops. Gloves, hats, and sunglasses were dumped into bags’ pockets.</p><p>Alfred sat on the benches at the trumpet section’s lockers, back facing Arthur. He plopped something into his mouth and washed it down with a large gulp of water from his bottle. </p><p>“Alfred?”</p><p>Alfred jumped, head whisking around to reveal a flustered expression. “Oh, Artie my dude!” He smiled as he hurriedly shoved a plastic cylinder-shaped object into his bidder’s pocket. “What’s up?”</p><p>“Nothing, nothing. You’re here early. Have you seen the other trumpets?” He asked as he took his bibber off his hanger and slid over his shorts. </p><p>“Nah, I think we’re the first ones here! Don’t forget all your items!”</p><p>“Let’s see...Gloves are here, spats go around the ankle, the sunglasses go in with the gloves…And there’s my hat. What else?”</p><p>“Spirit! We gotta kick some butt! You ready for this?”</p><p>“Ready as I am, I suppose.” Arthur shrugged after stuffing his uniform jacket into a uniform bag and slinging it over his back. “Minus spirit, I got everything that I need so far. I’ll be waiting outside.”</p><p>Arthur turned to leave.</p><p>“Hey, by the way, do you wanna sit next to each on the bus?”</p><p>“I suppose so.”</p><p>At 7:40, the band went to the front of the school. Two rumbling buses parked in the drop-off loop at standby. Instruments were placed (or pushed, referring to larger instruments) into the bus’s trunks, located beneath the passenger windows and aligned with the wheels. Backpacks slung over their shoulders or resting on their backs, the band kids headed into their respective buses. Bus 1 held the woodwind players, Bus 2 held all the brass instruments players, and Bus 3 held the percussionists.</p><p>In Bus 2, students stuffed their uniform jackets into locker compartments above the seats. Their excited chatters ceased once Roderich began to take attendance. Although the itinerary stated that the departure for the competition was at 8:00, the buses did not leave until 8:10, due to students hurrying back to the band room for missing gloves, missing sheet music, or the toilet.</p><p>Staying true to his words, Arthur took a seat with Alfred near the rest of the trumpet section, originally intending to review his music during the drive. Had he been sitting in front of the bus with the sousaphone, mellophones, and baritone horns, he would have had the peace needed to concentrate.</p><p>At the back of the bus, the trombones chortled and made obnoxious, perverted jokes. One of them managed to sneak his trombone into the bus. He blew into it, each note increasing in volume. His peers snickered as they took bets on when Roderich was going to whisk his head around angrily at the noise. Unbeknownst to them, Roderich had inserted earpods into his ears. Eyes on music sheets, he rehearsed conducting the show’s songs, paying no heed to the rowdy trombones.</p><p>Jett and Mathias sat behind Arthur and Alfred singing “Wheel on the Bus”. Amused by the song, most of the other trumpets joined in with them, earning eyerolls from the mellophone players bordering their section.</p><p>“Surprised that you’re not singing along with them.” An annoyed Arthur said to Alfred.</p><p>“Nah, I just want a break for myself. Gotta get some rest before the competition! Wake me up when we get there!” Earphone inserted, Alfred leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes.</p><p><em>“Perhaps some music will block out distractions.” </em>Arthur plugged his ears with his white earphones, blasting “Bohemian Rhapsody” over Jett and Mathias’s off-key duo cover of “Baby Shark”. Apparently, someone requested a song change for the poor band kid’s radio station.</p><p>Arthur gaze stayed on his crumpled sheet music only for a few minutes before unconsciously wandering around his surroundings. Cars in the left lane whizzed by, a contrast to the drifting stores, trees, and signs. Mathias and Jett halted their singing to point at and laugh at a billboard. Arthur titled a slight smile at the clever yet offensive catchphrase. Your wife is hot? Gotta get that air conditioner fixed? That ought to convince patrons to go to that repair shop! Matthew was slouched in the seat diagonal from Arthur’s, still as a doorknob. Although Arthur could only see Matthew’s wavy locks and red headphones, he imagined Matthew’s sleeping face to be similar to Alfred’s—long eyelashes, light rosy cheeks, smooth peachy lips—</p><p>Alfred’s indistinguishable mumble broke Arthur’s daze. Blood rushing to his face, Arthur averted his gaze towards the rolling hills and apartment complexes, as Alfred stretched his limbs. His body shifted, making his sleeping expression face Arthur.</p><p>“That git still manages to distract me even when he’s asleep.” Arthur grumbled to himself, face burning red.</p><p>Five minutes later, Arthur slipped his sheet music into his backpack. Even if it were not for Alfred distracting him, there was no point in reviewing music if the trumpet was underneath the entire band’s feet and not in Arthur’s hands. The drowsiness that hung over him in the morning returned despite his playlist’s energetic, fast-paced rock music.</p><p>Heavy lids draped over emerald eyes. The sunlight reddened Arthur’s black world. Blinking away the stars and the transparent green haziness, Arthur shifted on the seat’s blue cushions, decorated with squiggly neon red and green lines and shapes, into a comfortable position. His flickering eyes on Alfred, Arthur nodded off to sleep.</p><p>When the bus cruised down the hallway ramp, Arthur’s inner innate alarm clock caused him to awake. While Arthur rubbed the sand from the corners of his eyes, Alfred stirred. His joints cracked, and his eyes lit, growing brighter at every familiar passing suburban landmark—stores, gas stations, and houses.</p><p>“We’re here! Did you wake me up like what I asked you?”</p><p>“No. How could I possibly wake you if I don’t even know where the competition is going to be?”</p><p>School buildings stood out from the homes. Chain-link fences separated the sidewalks and curbs from the campus. At the lot adjacent to a football field—an exact duplicate of the one back in Global High—the bus came to a hissing stop.</p><p>The doors swung open. Students rose from their seats and pulled their uniform bags out of the lockers. Alfred apologized to Arthur for stepping on his feet and elbowing him as they put on their uniform jackets, set their caps atop their heads, and slipped their hands into their gloves. Once when they were fully dressed, Arthur went ahead to exit the bus while Alfred stopped to speak to Matthew.</p><p>Warm sunlight met Arthur’s fair, freckled face. Heat gathered underneath his bidders and sleeves, a discomfort he became accustomed to during the last football game. After when Ivan tugged his sousaphone out, Arthur crawled into the trunk and collected his trumpet.</p><p>Global High was not alone in the parking lot. Several other bands trailed out of other buses. None of their uniforms had the same blue and white hue as Global High’s; theirs were red and gold, green and gold, black and white, teal and silver, and orange and black.</p><p>“Look at these folks.” Arthur turned at Mathias’s scornful tone. He and Jett jeered at the orange and black marching band.</p><p>“Paradale High is nothing compared to us, right?” Jett replied.</p><p>“Right!” The two sophomore trumpets stuck their tongues out and blew a raspberry at Paradale High’s band, turning their heads away when some members of the rival band glared back at them.</p><p>All the bands went their separate ways to warm-up and review their show music. Then, they went up to football stands and waited for their turn for their performance. Audience members sat along the sidelines and on the lower stands. The early afternoon sun hung over the field, leaving every individual baked in the scorching rays. Jackets were folded neatly and placed on the bleachers. As their competitors performed, the Global High Band cycled water bottles around, each refilled with the coolers. When only a few drops dripped out the cooler, the coolers were immediately taken away to be replenished.  </p><p>The Global High Band had the curse to be the last in line for the competition. With every rival band marching off the field at the end of their performances, Arthur bounced his legs quicker and quicker. The sheet music engrained in his memory grew grainer and blurrier. </p><p><em>“Something disastrous is going to happen.” </em>A heavy uneasy weight hanging over his stiffening shoulders drove Arthur to drink from every bottle handed to him. <em>“I will not collapse on the field like during my first football game!”</em></p><p>The crowd applauded and cheered as Paradale High’s marching band marched forward towards the sidelines and halted before returning to the bleachers. The judges gathered and whispered amongst each other, their pens tapping the score sheets.</p><p><em>“Calm down, calm down will you, Kirkland?” </em>Arthur clenched his trumpet tightly to his chest as he followed his peers off the bleachers. The silver metal stands led to the field’s artificial dull green turf. <em>“Do not be the sole reason your school band fails to get first place in this cutthroat competition!” </em></p><p>“Yo, Artie!”</p><p>Arthur’s troubled expression instantly sharpened into a glower. “Alfred, it’s Arthur!”</p><p>“I know that!” Alfred laughed. “Good luck to you, dude!” He held out a fist.</p><p>Arthur gave a funny look. Smile widening, Alfred darted his eyes to his fist. With an eyeroll and an unforced smile, Arthur’s hand rolled into a fist and gave Alfred a fist-bump.</p><p>“Cya at the sidelines when this is over!” Alfred called as he trotted over to the fifty-yard line to line up.</p><p>Smile remaining on his face, Arthur relaxed his shoulders, shuting his eyes and taking a deep breath.</p><p>
  <em>“Next up is the Global High Band!” </em>
</p><p>A long breath left Arthur’s lips at the applause coming across the field. <em>“Calm down, Arthur. Calm down. You got this.” </em></p><p>Global High’s performance began with the percussion’s thunders, clatters, clangs, and crashes. Everything came rushing back to Arthur, from the adrenaline coursing through his veins to every tiny detail he feared he would forget atop the stands. Play at piano here. This part is accented. Go behind Yao. Stop in between Feliciano and Elizabeta. The next set was only at the next yard line; don’t hurry.</p><p>The judges scribbled scores on the clipboard as they scurried around the band like wolves, their preying eyes watching every bandsman’s steps and moves, and their sharp ears listening to every flute, saxophone, trumpet, and sousaphone. Even with a nitpicking judge giving him the evil eye, Arthur pressed the right valves, his muscle memory not hindered by fear of judgement. His emerald eyes remained ahead of him, facing one of the Edelsteins to remain in tempo.</p><p>The first two songs whizzed by with steps, music notes, and blue and white uniforms. The third song neared its end with the show’s final move.</p><p><em>“On this hash line, between Toris and Lovino.” </em>Arthur thought as he stepped to his last spot. <em>“Alfred should be besides me. Once when this move is completed, all I have to worry about is music! I endured this competition without an error!”</em></p><p>Alfred was nowhere near his spot.</p><p>
  <em>“Twelve counts in. Where is that bloke? He should be here by now!” </em>
</p><p>Arthur darted his eyes around restlessly, catching a cap lying beside a tuff of wheat-blond hair at the edge of his peripheral vision. Alfred’s motionless hands laid open, trumpet inches away from his arm.</p><p><em>“Come on, git. Get up already.” </em>Arthur urged to himself.</p><p><em>“Boom, boom, boom.” </em>Ludwig slammed his mallets on his enormous bass drum, ice-blue eyes calculated the remaining distance from his spot, not taking into account of the fallen trumpetist in his path due to his bass drum’s massive size.</p><p>“Look out!” A blur of sand-blond, white, and blue darted around the other performers. Hurrying black shoes kicked back black rubber crumbs in the air, Arthur threw his body over Alfred, eyes clenched shut to brace any incoming pain. “Ludwig! In front of you!”</p><p>Ice-blue eyes widening, Ludwig, only a few steps away, swerved to avoid the two trumpets. Despite the bass drum’s heavy weight latched in front of his body, Ludwig miraculously did not lose his balance, his high-steps remaining straight and high as usual. He playing the bass drum’s part as he took the unexpected, improvised detour to his last dot.</p><p>“Alfred?” Arthur shook Alfred. “Alfred!”</p><p>“Mmm, dude…” Arthur’s chest rose in relief at Alfred’s stirring and weak response.</p><p>“Take my hand. I’ll lead you off. Like that. Lean against me. Let’s hurry.” Arthur shouted over the music.</p><p>While the Global High Band played through the final part of their performance, two staff members helped Arthur get the staggering Alfred off the field. Helped onto a folding chair, Alfred was inquired about his medical history. What happened? Did you have any conditions? Did you make any certain medicines? Arthur’s eyes moseyed around the field, relieved smile falling. The rest of his bandmates seemed to glare at him behind their black framed glasses. At the back corner of the field, two judges hissed amongst each other. One pointed at Arthur before both of them scrawled deducted points for Arthur breaking the ultimate rule of a marching band: don’t break ranks. </p><p>The air grew stuffier. Sunlight shone atop Arthur, the focal point of shame, who averted his eyes as his bandmates finally marched off the field and forced a hesitant smile at them.</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve made a mistake, haven’t I? Damn it, Arthur Kirkland.” </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>After a month of editing, the update is finally here! The changes made in previous chapters including fixing up typos and adding some details to emphasize character relationships. There isn't much change to the plot as a whole, so I think the story can be still understood even if the previous chapters aren't reread. I'll probably still continue editing chapters on the side as I'm writing new ones if there's something I want to change.<br/>I never participated in a high school marching band, so I completely don't know how marching band competitions work. I asked a friend for more accuracy, though he could not provide an answer when I asked what would happen if someone broke ranks to help a person who suddenly fell in the middle of a performance, since it is a very specific event.<br/>"Paradale" is supposed to be an awful pun for "parallel". While Paradale High will only remain in the background for the next chapter, you guys can take a guess on who goes to that school.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Spirit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation Notes:<br/>-Hallo= Hello<br/>-Entschuldigen sie= Excuse me<br/>-Bruder= Brother</p><p>Context Notes:<br/>-The V sign, when the palm faces towards you and the back of the hand faces a person, is an offensive gesture to Australians.<br/>-A fight song is a theme associated with a sports team used to pump up enthusiasm during games. While college bands do play fight songs, I'm not sure if high school bands do the same.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Coming in second place with 95.6 points is Global High School!”</p><p>In contrast to the audience’s lively applauses, the Globes gave scattered, half-hearted claps. Forced, unexcited smiles spread across half of the band’s faces except for Mr. Edelstein’s, Roderich’s, most of the freshmen’s, and a few uppers’.</p><p>Arthur’s light heart did not rise in his chest. <em>“Should I still feel proud? After all, we did win something.”</em></p><p>“Yay! We won second place—Ow!” Feliciano’s cheer was cut short by Lovino elbowing him in the ribs.</p><p>“Si, we did. <em>Again</em>.” Lovino scowled, causing Feliciano to shrink back. “And that means—”</p><p>The announcer’s voice boomed out the speakers again. “—Paradale High School takes first place with 98.5 points!”</p><p>To the right of the stands, the orange and black-garbed band sprung up to their feet, whooping in victory. Some tightly embraced each other. Others, the majority from the trumpet and trombone section, hollered how superior their band was to the other bands, earning eyerolls, glares, and frowns from their opponents, especially from the Globes.</p><p>“Ya know, I’m bettin’ that Paradale High School is payin’ the bloody judges!” Jett’s bitter remark earned nods from his peers.  </p><p>After learning of the results, the Globes headed off the stands back to their buses with hung heads and slow steps. Their slouched backs did not straighten when Mr. Edelstein praised them for their hard work and performance before allowing them to put away their instruments and board the bus. Paradale High’s distinct cheers came from the opposite end of the parking lot as Arthur headed into the bus with Alfred trailing him.</p><p>Alfred did not say a word. He remained in his seat with a straight expression, eyes fixated on the chair in front of him to block out potential disdainful looks glimpsing at him. A shamefaced smile forced itself on his features when Arthur approached.</p><p>“Hey, dude.”</p><p>“Alfred, are you fine?” Arthur unzipped his uniform jacket.</p><p>Alfred chuckled.</p><p>“Why are you laughing? Can’t you see I’m concerned about you?”</p><p>“Why do you always sweat the small stuff, man?” Alfred leaned back in his seat. “I just lost my breath and blacked out a bit.”</p><p>“Well, if I did not run up to you, Ludwig would’ve tripped over you.”</p><p>Alfred gave a playful astonished expression. “Wait, you, the music perfectionist, broke ranks just to save me?”  </p><p>“It was for the competition!” Arthur’s face turned red, either from anger or <em>embarrassment</em>. “Had Ludwig fell, we might have not won second place!”</p><p><em>“Perhaps if I never broke ranks, we might have won first.” </em>A thought whispered into Arthur’s ears.</p><p>“It looks like you were my hero! Thanks for saving me!” Alfred gave Arthur his characteristic, white beam, the first one since the end of Global High’s performance. “I owe you, dude.”</p><p>“No need to.” After hanging his bibbers and jacket, Arthur placed his hanger in the uniform bag and hung it next to his and Alfred’s seat. “But be serious, Alfred. Do you have any conditions that I, I mean, we should be aware of?”</p><p>“I’m just kinda anemic. That’s all, dude. Everyone knows that.” Alfred reassured. “This doesn’t happen that often honestly. It must be one of my bad days.”</p><p>Empty parking spaces drifted by as the bus drove off onto the street. Not a single word uttered over its chugging engine. White screens shone on unsmiling faces and heads slumped against the seat cushions, eyes shut. The most sensitive ears could pick out multiple songs blasting from headphones, earpods, and earphones.</p><p>The traffic lights turned red. One of the bus’s rear turn lights flickered, signaling its intention to turn into the lane towards the freeway. Over his Beatles playlist, Arthur thought he heard the sound of palms slapping a glass surface. Furrowing his brows, he wondered, <em>“Strange. I don’t recall this kind of beat in this song.”</em></p><p>“Oh, them again.” Mathias groaned behind Arthur.</p><p>Arthur turned towards the window and rose a repulsed brow. In the seat row Arthur sat in, the Global High Band frowned at the Paradale High Marching Band whooping in the bus in the adjacent lane. The arch-rival marching band’s exaggerated irksome expressions and obscene gestures turned the frowns into glowers and glares. Arthur shot daggers at a boy with poorly-dyed pink hair sticking his right index finger into his left fist, a lewd suggestive smile on his pale freckled face.</p><p>“We get it, we get it! Ya guys won! Stop shovin’ it in our faces!” Scowling, Jett flicked up a V-sign back at the Paradale bus, palm facing himself.</p><p>Mathias blew a raspberry.</p><p>“The nerve of them! Are they always this childish?” Arthur asked Alfred.</p><p>Alfred took a quick glimpse. “Yeah. If I was in your seat, I would moon them.”</p><p>“No. Don’t. Don’t do such a disgusting thing!”</p><p>Alfred laughed, the only cheery noise amongst the grumbles and angry remarks. As Global High’s bus turned into the freeway at the green light, Paradale High gave a mocking goodbye wave.</p><p>“I hope we don’t see these bloody fools again.” Arthur huffed.</p><hr/><p>At 8<sup>th</sup> period, Arthur slipped into the band room quietly, hastening his steps to zip past the other band kids. His eyes darted to the walls, the floor, the lockers, anywhere to avoid eye contact.</p><p><em>“Everyone must be ashamed of me.” </em>Arthur thought as he took his trumpet out his locker. Following clicks from its unfastening hasps, he flipped open his instrument case, revealing his precious brass instrument. <em>“I know that I shouldn’t have done that, but how could I leave Alfred on the field like that—?”</em></p><p>“Hallo, Arthur.” A German-accented voice greeted. Ludwig loomed over Arthur, mallets clutched in his hands.</p><p>“Oh, hello Ludwig.” Standing up, Arthur wrapped his arms around his trumpet like a lifeline, tensing his shoulders as a nervous smile forced its way through his face. “How have you been?”</p><p>“Good, good.” Ludwig’s straight mouth and blank eyes made Arthur’s heartbeat hasten with anticipation. Was this a confrontation?</p><p>“Do you need anything from me?” Arthur asked, bracing himself from the potential answers.</p><p>“Nein. I just want to thank you for saving me back at the competition.”</p><p>“Oh, saving you? Really so?”</p><p>“Ja. Why are you surprised?”</p><p>“Nothing! I assumed that you were upset with me! You know what I mean. Everyone was bummed when we didn’t win first place and—”</p><p>Ludwig rose a hand to halt Arthur. “You have nothing to worry about. Us not winning first has nothing to do with you. Anyway, if it weren’t for you calling out the danger like that, I would’ve fell over Alfred.”</p><p>“Of course. I’ll be willing to help anyone at any time!”</p><p>Ludwig returned to his bass drum, which rested on a chair at the back on the classroom with the rest of the percussion section. Setting his empty instrument case back into its shelf, Arthur shut the barred locker door. He took his seat in the trumpet section’s area, oiled his valves, and listened to his peers’ surrounding conversations.</p><p>“Even though we got second place, it was still very fun, right?” Feliciano, being his usual cheery self, asked Kiku and Lovino.</p><p>While Kiku gave a nod and a small smile, Lovino rolled his eyes. “Si, si very fun.” He answered with a frown. “I don’t see what’s fun with losing to Paradale High, a stuck-up band with nothing but assholes, again!”</p><p>“Well, Paradale High’s band is one of the top ones in the state.” Kiku softly spoke up.</p><p>“Still, I don’t see what’s so fucking special about them! All the damn bands sound the same, including ours!” Lovino continued his rant. “Also, we’re nowhere in the top ten bands in our tiny shithole state, but we’ve been running up to Paradale in second and third place in the past, so they can’t be that fucking great they think they are!”</p><p>“Well, that means we need to improve more to beat them next year!” Feliciano chirped up.</p><p>“Improve? We work hard. I work hard and I don’t see any damn improvement in my music!” Lovino retorted, causing Feliciano to shrink and Kiku to flinch. “Wait, wait. What if were actually close to winning but someone screwed up? Like Alfred. Fucking Alfred. If that shithead didn’t fall, we would’ve—!”</p><p>“What’s up, my dudes!”</p><p>Alfred has entered the chat. Mouth zipped shut, Lovino shot daggers at the grinning blond. Feliciano’s acknowledging smile looked too nervous. Kiku looked away.</p><p>“So, what’s up?”</p><p>“Nothing, Alfred! We are doing fine, right Lovi?” Feliciano softy tapped Lovino’s feet.</p><p>“Oi!” Lovino hissed before answering, “Right, right.”</p><p>“That’s good! Well,” Alfred scratched the back of his head. “Arthur’s over there, and I gotta go talk to him. Talk to you guys later!”</p><p>“See you, Alfred.” The three alto saxophones said altogether in robotic voices.</p><p>Alfred took his seat next to Arthur. “Hey, Artie!”</p><p>“Hello there, Alfred.” Arthur said, deciding to not reprimand Alfred for calling him Artie. “How are you doing today?”</p><p>“Good. Hey, can I borrow your valve oil when you’re done?”</p><p>Arthur handed Alfred the bottle. “Just finished. Here you go, lad.”</p><p>Alfred unscrewed his valves. Oil dripped down the cylinder surface. As Alfred dipped each valve in and out the castings, Arthur continued to eavesdropped into the other band kids’ chats.</p><p>
  <em>“How is he still here?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If he didn’t pass out, we would’ve have won!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s pretty happy despite costing us that competition!”</em>
</p><p>Arthur bit his cheeks. <em>“Yes, we lost because Alfred fell, but he could not do anything about it, you twats! Why won’t they blame me? I broke my ranks. I should be blamed for our loss!” </em></p><p>At practice in the stadium, all complaints regarding Alfred redirected towards the weekend’s football game. Previously, the grievances grumbled and whined about the drill’s complexity, the songs’ hasty pace, and not having enough breaks to suffice for the pain and suffering endured during practices, complaints Arthur took with an apathetic, unsympathetic eyeroll. This time, his brows furrowed in irk at the mere mentioning of Paradale High’s football team.</p><p>“Our school is facing Paradale in this weekend’s football game? You got to be kidding!”</p><p>Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis’s sad sighs and nods confirmed Arthur’s assumption.</p><p>“Si. As ironic as it sounds, it’s not a joke, amigo.” Antonio said.</p><p>“Oh, jolly.” Arthur sarcastically sighed. “At least we won’t see their bloody band there.”</p><p>Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio uneasily looked at each other.</p><p>“What is it now?” Arthur asked, rising a brow.</p><p>“…Well, Paradale High’s band tends to follow their football team everywhere they go, including their away games.” Francis spoke up. “So, we’ll be seeing them as well.”</p><p>“Bloody hell.”</p><p>“First, we get our arsch kicked by their marching band. Then, we get beaten by their football team.” Gilbert remarked wryly. “What a fun life.”</p><p>Arthur shifted his attention from worries regarding the football team to his music and his spots in relation to the field’s white hash marks and the other band kids. At the end of practice, Arthur got into his car with a peace of mind, a peace disrupted once when he returned to the Kirkland household.</p><p>Arthur went up the stairs, away from the clinging dishes and warm aroma drifting out of the kitchen. He shut his bedroom door before dumping his book bag on his chair, taking a seat on his bed, opening his instrument case, and bringing his trumpet up to his lips. His rehearsal of the show music blared over the sound of Mr. Kirkland pulling up in the driveway in his car. Had it not been for Mrs. Kirkland ratting her knuckles on the bedroom door, Arthur would have remained oblivious to his growing hungry. </p><p>“I called for you four times already.” She said to Arthur as their footsteps clumped down the stairs. </p><p>“I was busy practicing.” Arthur replied, his brows clenched to form an annoyed expression.</p><p>Mr. Kirkland was already at the table, face buried by the daily newspaper. His prepped meal placed in front of him grew colder by the minute. His fork, placed on the white dangly placed napkin, did not move an inch from its original place. The sound of a chair being pulled up and creaking under Arthur’s weigh barely made Mr. Kirkland look up from the article discussing the weather. </p><p>“Dear, your dinner is getting cold.” Mrs. Kirkland spoke up as she sat down.</p><p>“Oh, right.” The paper rustled as Mr. Kirkland folded it and set it aside on the empty chair to his right. </p><p>Eyes facing down away from his parents, Arthur absentmindedly stirred his shimmering beef stew, mind occupied by the sheet music he stared at moments ago. <em>“Should I begin memorization or focus on technique?” </em>He wondered, his spoon dropping a slice of carrot back into the thick brown food. </p><p>“Arthur?” At Mrs. Kirkland’s voice, Arthur nearly dropped his spoon into the stew. “You look lost in thought. What is on your mind?”</p><p>“Nothing. Just music.” Arthur replied, looking up at his mother with hesitating eyes.</p><p>“For the upcoming football game?”</p><p>Arthur nodded before putting a spoonful of stew into his mouth. Accustomed to Mrs. Kirkland’s tendency to over-saturate her dishes with salt, he barely gagged at the overwhelming salty taste. </p><p>“Who is Global High playing against?” Mrs. Kirkland continued to ask.</p><p>Arthur lightly furrowed his brows. “Paradale High. Our rivals.” </p><p>“Well, interesting. I’m guessing that many people will attend that game.” Mrs. Kirkland’s remark made Arthur’s stomach flip-flop.</p><p>Staring at his mother, Arthur swallowed slowly and responded, “Yes, perhaps. I can ask Francis about that. Many people say that our football team is average at best, so I wouldn’t be too surprised if hardly anyone comes.”</p><p>“Well, I would be glad to come!” Mrs. Kirkland said with an eager smile.</p><p>Blood drained from Arthur’s face. “To the game?” He asked in a flabbergast voice. “No Mum, don’t feel obligated to go! Our football team isn’t anything special!”</p><p>“Now, Arthur.” Mrs. Kirkland said. “Your father and I went to the last game to watch you and the band. You have nothing to worry about in regards to whether your school will win the game! Speaking of your father…” Mrs. Kirkland turned to her husband. “George, are you interested in attending this Saturday’s game? Just to watch Arthur again.”</p><p>Mr. Kirkland rose one of his thick brows. “To watch him collapse onto the field from heat exhaustion again?”</p><p>Arthur clenched his teeth behind his thin lips, unsure if he should feel relieved or hurt by his father’s response.</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland frowned. “What would you say such a thing?” She scolded lightly. “Arthur hasn’t fainted since the first one, right Arthur?”</p><p>Arthur kept a tense blank expression. “Um, yes.”</p><p>“Give your son another chance.” Mrs. Kirkland urged her husband.</p><p>Mr. Kirkland narrowed his hazel eyes at Arthur, who, despite his straight sitting posture, internally shrunk back. </p><p><em>“Please say no, please say no.” </em>Arthur begged to himself.</p><p>With an inaudible sigh, Mr. Kirkland nodded. “Fine by me.” He said, before shifting his glare from his wife to Arthur, whose hands went cold with dread. “I’ll give him another chance.”</p><p>For the rest of dinner, Arthur picked at his stew, appetite lost due to his nerves. </p><hr/><p>A yellow flag flew up in the air, accompanied by a referee’s whistle. The football players ceased their tackles, shoves, and dashes, one a Globe being twenty yards from the geometrical U-shaped goal post.</p><p>“Foul on number 39, Global High. Ten-yard penalty.” The announcer’s booming statement was met with boos and hisses from the home speculators and cheers from the away speculators across the field, the loudest coming from the Paradale Marching Band.</p><p>“Ja, ja. We know.” Gilbert grumbled, crossing his arms. “Our team sucks, and your team is winning.” </p><p>Francis and Antonio gave a sad smile at their best friend before turning their attention to the field. With a tweet of a whistle, the football players slammed against each other, the scrawnier Globes being shoved back by the bulkier Devils. The Globe with the ball did not even take a single step before being piled back several Paradale players. </p><p>Home: 00</p><p>Away: 21 </p><p>3rd quarter: 9:03</p><p><em>“I can’t wait for this silly game to be over.” </em>Arthur thought as he watched the seconds click down.</p><p>While Mathias slouched forward and faced the game with a frown, Jett picked at the scab on his hand, glove and phone on his lap. Ahead, Lovino complained to Feliciano about how this game sucked ass. Kiki hugged his alto saxophone, cringing at the football smacking and flying out a Globe quarterback's hand. Disinterested in the game, both Antonio and Gilbert browsed memes and sites on their phones as the clock clicked down. The only bandsmen mildly interested in the game were Francis, whose unmoving eyes trailing the football; and, of course, Alfred.</p><p>“C’mon, Globes! C’mon!” Alfred stood up and shouted over the home crowd’s mutters. </p><p><em>“At least there is something that makes this game much entertaining.” </em>Arthur gave a slight smile before turning around and facing the upper stands. He shrunk his weak smile into a deadpan expression at his parents, who sat several rows above his. While Mrs. Kirkland waved at Arthur when he and the band returned to the stands after halftime, Mr. Kirkland barely moved a muscle, stern stoic features hardened on his face. Neither of them left their seats to tell Arthur what they thought of the performance, or rather <em>his</em> performance.</p><p>Arthur sighed as he wondered, <em>“Are they even a tad impressed at least? I just can’t tell! Well, if I did an excellent job, they would tell me—” </em></p><p>“C’mon, c’mon!” Arthur’s head whisked around at Alfred’s whine. The football flying straight across the field missed a Globe quarterback’s hand by an inch. </p><p>Paradale High now had the ball.</p><p><em>“Why won’t this game end quicker?” </em>Arthur crossed his arms and sighed. </p><p>“7:57 left on the clock!” Alfred shouted across the band at the field, drawing jolted stares and irritated glares from a few band kids. Mathias groaned and buried his knuckle in the bridge of his noise, while Jett mumbled, “That bloody annoying bloke…” under his hissing breath. His back facing Alfred, Lovino’s grumpy expression contorted, eyebrows furrowing, eyes narrowing, and teeth gritting. </p><p>“You guys still got this!” Alfred continued to call, voice shouting over the whistle.</p><p>Under white gloves, Lovino’s knuckles turned white.</p><p>“Go Globes!”</p><p>“SLAM!” Lovino stomped his foot on the bleachers, sending tremors around the surrounding bleachers and drawing astonished, wide-eyed stares. He glared at Alfred, face red with fury and dilated hazel eyes bulging out his sockets. “Oh, just fucking shut up, will you Alfred?” Lovino yelled. “It’s not like your damn cheers can magically make our team win this rigged game! Actually, it might be the fucking reason why we’re losing! No one wants your obnoxious screaming!” </p><p>With a short huff, Lovino dropped back into his seat, head whisking back to the calamitous football game.</p><p>Face contorting into an angry expression, Alfred opened his mouth to protest. Yet, driven the other band kids’ irritated looks, Alfred swallowed back his retort and quietly sat down in his seat as limp as a rag doll, brows knitted, shoulders hung, and eyes filled with dejection. </p><p>Arthur’s chest panged like if a fist punched through a significant piece in his heart. <em>“How rude.” </em>He thought as he frowned at Lovino. <em>“Sure, Alfred could be a tad too loud, but at least he brings more spirit to this blasted game than all of us combined!”</em></p><p>Ball in his hand, a Paradale quarterback ran for fifteen yards before being thrown down by two Globes. “First down!” The announcer announced. Over the Global High Band’s joyless silence, the away team fans cheered, followed by Paradale’s band playing a snippet of their plain, fight song.</p><p>Arthur rolled his eyes at Paradale’s band; half due to his school’s team constantly getting beaten by their opponents, the other regarding the rival band’s fight song, a monotonous melody lacking the energetic beats and earworm of a melody Global High’s had. <em>“What kind of a fight song is that?” </em></p><p>An orange and black jersey whisked out of the blue and white jerseys’ tackles way. “First down!” </p><p>Insert Paradale’s fight song here.</p><p>As the smug-faced Paradale Band set their instruments down, Arthur peeked at Alfred, who fixated his unhappy gaze on his black shoes. A thin mischievous smile crept across Arthur’s features as an idea lit in his mind. Rising up from his seat, Arthur cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Paradale! What kind of a fight song do you blokes have?”</p><p>The corners of Alfred’s mouth rose, though Alfred’s eyes still remained on the bleacher’s gray surface. On the green field, the Globes chased a Paradale quarterback into the sidelines.</p><p>“First down!” The announcer boomed.</p><p>Insert Paradale’s fight song here.</p><p>“Fight song? I say that it is a surrender song!” Arthur continued to bash. “A surrender song for cheese-loving frogs!”</p><p>“Hey!” Francis shot Arthur an offended yet jokey expression.</p><p>Alfred’s smile grew into a toothy grin as he bit his lips and snorted a laugh. Behind turned heads, smiles formed on faces.</p><p> A Globe quarterback slugged a Paradale player, who was a close fifteen yards away from the goal post. </p><p>“First down!” All the players lined up in their formations on the field as the Paradale Band played. </p><p>“You might’ve taken first place and possibly this football game, but you will never take our fight song!” Arthur shouted.</p><p>“Yeah! What Artie said!” Reenergized, the beaming Alfred hopped onto his feet and joined Arthur, stars sparkling in his eyes. “You can’t take away our spirit, dudes!”</p><p>“Let’s go, Globes!”</p><p>“WHOO!”</p><p>Then something miraculous happened. </p><p>The football flew towards a Paradale player steps away from the touchdown lane, only for a Globe quarterback to leap in his path and snatch the ball. The home audience roared as spectators leapt onto their feet, hopping up and down on the rumbling bleachers. If Arthur did not become deaf from Alfred’s thrilled yell, the other band kids’ cheers would’ve burst Arthur’s eardrums by now. Twenty-yards, thirty-yards, forty-yards, the Globe quarterback passed before being sacked at the fifty-yard line.</p><p>“Intersection for the Globes!” The announcer’s voice, tone risen by joy and amazement, proclaimed.</p><p>Roderich hobbled up the ladder, a rare smile across his face, as the Global High Band rose, instruments in their hands. With four counts waved by Roderich’s baton, the band played their fight song snippet over crowd. Arthur’s eyes only read the music notes in each measure over the articulations and dynamics, playing his trumpet’s melody just as if not louder than Alfred’s.</p><p>“Go my dudes!” Alfred shouted, still standing while the rest of band back down at the end of their song.</p><p>Arthur stood next to Alfred, not as ecstatic as his fellow first trumpet, yet with a wide white grin stretched by his unyielding cheeks.</p><p>“Eh, what’s to be excited about?” Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms and averting his eyes from the game. “In about a minute, it’s back to us getting our asses beaten by Para-hell.”</p><p>The crowd went silent like before as the teams lined up in the positions. In the band, bored eyes wandered onto the ground, laps, and phones.</p><p>Arthur frowned, throwing up his hands and asking at the top of his voice, “Oh, come on, all! Is this the support we should be giving to our team?”</p><p>“Yeah, dudes!” Alfred rejoined. “Here we go, Glo-obes, here we go!”</p><p>“Where are going?” Matthew shouted from the other side of the band in a high-pitched hollering voice, up from his seat in the mellophone section. Alfred flashed an approving grin at his cousin before continuing his cheer, joined in with Arthur.</p><p>“Here we go, Glo-bes, here we go!”</p><p>“Where are going?” Feliciano cried with Matthew as he hopped up onto his feet, large smile across his face and cheeks a rosy pink. While Lovino rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s stupid antics, timid and hesitant Kiku trembled as he tried to rise from his seat, hugging his arms to himself while he murmured Alfred and Arthur’s cheers.</p><p>Now on the fifteenth yard line, the players pushed and shoved each other. Arthur held his breath as the football soared over the players’ heads. Pursued by two Paradale players, a Globe leapt to catch the ball, which zoomed into his arms as he landed in the touchdown zone, narrowly avoiding his two opponent’s tackles.</p><p>“TOUCHDOWN! YAHOO!” Alfred hollered as his bandmates scrambled up to play their school’s fight song.</p><p>At the end of the fight song, the Globes kicked the ball, sending it zooming over the touchdown post.</p><p>Home: 07</p><p>Away: 21.</p><p>Gilbert scrambled out of his seat. “Entschuldigen sie, entschuldigen sie.” He quickly said as he rushed down the stairs towards the stern-faced Ludwig, who sat at the lowest row.</p><p>“Bruder, what are you doing—OI!” Ludwig exclaimed when Gilbert snatched one of his bass drum’s mallets out of his hand.</p><p>“ONE! TWO! THREE…!” Gilbert shouted towards his bandmates as he slammed the mallet onto his little bruder’s drum with each count.</p><p>“…FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN!” Several band members applauded.</p><p>Cracking a smile, Ludwig jerked his mallet from Gilbert’s grasp. “You were holding that incorrectly, Bruder.” He remarked.</p><p>“Well, next time I’ll do the countdown and you can do the slamming, Luddy!” Gilbert smirked.</p><p>3<sup>rd</sup> quarter transitioned to 4<sup>th</sup> quarter. Whenever Paradale had the ball, the Globes held their ground in their defenses, cutting their opponents off before Paradale began dashing towards the end zone. The Globe players’ smaller, thinner builds proved to be useful when they had the ball, allowing them to maneuver out of Paradale’s lunges.</p><p>More and more band members clamored in with Alfred and Arthur’s cheers. Mathias and Jett shared their improvised cheers to Arthur, who brought them to Alfred to broadcast. Having been pestered enough by Feliciano and Antonio’s insistences, Lovino finally joined in, crossing his arms and scowling back a smile as the alto saxophone section celebrated his entry. After every touchdown made by the Globes, Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis hurried down to the bottom of the bleachers to count the new score, accompanied by Ludwig’s beats on his drum per count and, impressively, some of the surrounding bystanders. As Global High’s score climbed up to fourteen and twenty-one, the Global High Band’s energy rose in volume, leaving the Paradale Band and the rest of the away team’s fans seated in languid silence.</p><p><em>0:43 </em>the timer read on the scoreboard.</p><p>Home: 21</p><p>Away: 21</p><p>“Shh, shh!” Yao shushed at his section. “We don’t want to distract them!”</p><p>“Pass it up, pass it up!” Ludwig whispered.</p><p>“Shhh! Be quiet! Don’t distract them! Hush!” Now silent, the Global High Band anxiously watched their team and Paradale’s position themselves over the forty-yard line closest to Global High’s, exploding into cheers with the crowd applause when one of the Globe players caught the football at the twenty-fifth line before being pushed out of the bounds.</p><p>“Do you think we’ll be able to score before this quarter ends?” Arthur whispered to Alfred.</p><p>Alfred shrugged. “Maybe. But if we didn’t get it, we have to go overtime.”</p><p>“Oh, how fun.” Arthur grumbled with a straight face. “I’m already nervous. I don’t want to stressed out for another fifteen minutes!”</p><p>“Nah, you’ll be fine, dude!”</p><p>“Second down!” The announced broadcasted when the Globe quarterback with the ball got tackled at the twentieth line.</p><p>Following their fight song, the band fell silent again. Everyone remained on their feet, muscles too edgy to relax.</p><p>“Come on, Globes, come on.” Arthur mumbled under his breath. “Twenty seconds left. Pull this one off!”</p><p>A tight warmth engulfed Arthur’s trembling hand. Alfred gave a gentle squeeze.</p><p>Rather than tossing the ball, the Globe quarterback with the ball began to run towards the end zone, opponents either shoved back by his teammates or chasing after him. Even as his opponents began to tighten their corners around him, the quarterback continued his dash.</p><p>“Oh, I can’t look!” Feliciano’s whimpered as he covered his eyes.</p><p>“Zip it, Fratello!” Lovino hissed. “Or you’re going to fucking make me lose my cool too!”</p><p>Arthur grinded his teeth so hard, he feared that his jaw would snap. Alfred tightened his grasp on Arthur’s hand, receiving Arthur’s squeeze in response.</p><p>Right at the endzone’s border, a Paradale player leapt into a defensive stance, mirroring the Globe’s movement and diving towards his target as a final resort. With a last burst of stamina left in his legs, the Globe sprung into the endzone, dodging the Paradale player.</p><p>“TOUCHDOWN!” The home team’s fans’ roar muffled the announcer. The clock ticked down the final seconds, sealing the results.</p><p>“My god, we won!” Arthur gasped, mouth dropped open and eyes large.</p><p>“We won!!!” Kiku exclaimed as he jumped on his seat, his voice just as loud as Alfred’s.</p><p>“See, we won, Lovi!” Feliciano threw his arms over Lovino, who grunted in disgust.</p><p>“Oh, damn it Feli!” Lovino growled. “Hmph. I knew that we could win.”</p><p>“Yeah, we won the game! Take that!” Mathias yelled across the field towards the Paradale High Marching Band, blowing a raspberry at the despondent rivals.</p><p>“We did it, WE DID IT!” Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur, lifting him and swinging him.</p><p>Arthur’s reddening cheek smooshed against Alfred’s uniform jacket. Any logical sense urging him to struggle free from the hold was overcome by a fluffy feeling fluttering up in his stomach. His arms slowly wrapped around Alfred, hands resting on his sweaty back and fingernails softly digging into the cloth fabric, Arthur buried the side of his face deeper into Alfred’s chest, allowing the distinct yet familiar warm feeling to envelop him. He yearned for the moment to last forever; a desire unfulfilled when Alfred released him from his arms.</p><p>Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert stood at the bottom of the stands. With of Roderich’s pointing baton, the trio began counting down Global High’s final score. Voice monotone and inaudible as he counted with the rest of the band, Arthur kept looking up at Alfred, whose messy hair fell over his shiny flushed face in the right places and persistent cowlick protruded out underneath his cap. The sparks shining in Alfred’s ba</p><hr/><p>The night’s chilly air met Arthur’s face when he exited his car. Pressing the lock symbol on the palm-sized remote linked to his car key, Arthur left the dimming headlights behind him as he strolled up the driveway, trumpet case in his right hand. The white crystalline dots speckling the pitch-black night sky caught his eyes, making him halt on the concrete path leading to the porch and front door.</p><p> <em>“Alfred’s eyes…” </em>Arthur blushed as he reimagined the moment when Alfred embraced him at the end of the game. He set a warm palm on his chest, trying to restimulate the warm feeling to no avail.</p><p>The front door swung open.</p><p>“Oh, Arthur! You’re home now!” Mrs. Kirkland remarked. “Your father and I assumed that you would be returning home much later.”</p><p>“It doesn’t take that long to return to the band room and change.” Arthur replied. The heels of his shoes tapped the concrete path before making a soundless step into his house. Mrs. Kirkland shut and locked the door for him. “Oh, hello there, Dad.”</p><p>Mr. Kirkland sat in his usual favorite couch with a new novel in his lap, giving Arthur the same stoic, unreadable eye, straight lips, and lowered brows. “Hello, Arthur.”</p><p>Arthur froze, caught with the need to hurry upstairs and the need to feign courtesy to his father. His scrambled brain hurried to search for any topic to satisfy the brief conversation, making his stiff mouth and tongue move on their own. “So, what do you think of the game?” he asked, the back of his head repressing any reminder to ask about <em>his </em>performance.</p><p>“Quite entertaining, despite it not being my cup of tea.” Mr. Kirkland responded before his eyes fell back onto his novel.</p><p>“The game was very fun!” Mrs. Kirkland chimed in. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself!”</p><p><em>“Enjoying myself?” </em>Arthur questioned. <em>“How did I enjoy the game? The only reason why I had fun was due to Alfred…” </em></p><p>The nimble feeling in Arthur’s feet lessened the aches in his legs as he strode up the stairs. Alfred, Alfred, and Alfred only occupied his thoughts when he changed out of his crusty, sweat-stained clothes into his lime-green pajamas, showered, and lied in his bed browsing on his phone. Once every several minutes, he glanced up at his trumpet case placed at the foot of his desk, a symbol of what linked him and Alfred together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy moly, this is probably the longest chapter in the story for now. It's a little over 5000 words and at 19 pages with 1.5 paragraph spacing, a font of 12, and no indentation. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, since it brings me back to my college band days.<br/>I'm still not fully happy with some aspects of this story, so I might do some editing in the background while continuing to upload new chapters. As a heads up, the newer chapters will go deeper with Arthur's developing relationship with Alfred and introduce the aspects of YLiA that inspired this story that people are probably waiting for.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Certain That I'm Not in Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation Notes:<br/>-Bonjour= Hello<br/>-Au revoir= Goodbye<br/>-Oui= Yes<br/>-Je ne sais pas= I don't know.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>“Click-click-click-click…” </em>Arthur tapped his pen on his notebook, top half of its current page containing four completed calculus problems, bottom half only marked with the problem for question 8. His emerald eyes fixated on his math books’ practice questions, a typical sight of a hardworking student deep in concentrator to spectators. Yet, no matter how hard Arthur gazed, his mind continued to mosey back to the joyful and warm feeling brought by Alfred’s twinkling eyes, tremendous booming voice, and tight embrace at the end of yesterday’s victory.</p><p>Arthur scrunched his brows. The fuzziness in his light heart still persisted from last night. <em>“Arthur Kirkland, focus! Focus on your schoolwork!” </em>he thought. Had it not been a text message arriving with a notifying chime on his phone, Arthur would have spent the next thirty minutes staring at the blank edges of the page.</p><p>Snatching his phone off the coffee table, Arthur’s heart dropped as quickly as it rose. “Oh, it’s just Francis.” He mumbled to himself.</p><p>Francis’s message read, <em>“Bonjour, I am feeling quite lonely. Can I meet you at your place now?” </em></p><p>Arthur two thumbs bounced on the digital keyboard. <em>“It’s can, not may. Be my guest.”</em></p><p>In a few minutes, a doorbell broke the living room’s stillness. Setting his notebook and textbook on the table, Arthur rose from the sofa to open the door.</p><p>Francis greeted, “Bonjour, Arthur!” The wavy-haired blond’s smile shrunk, voice’s tone rising in concern when he asked. “Arthur?”</p><p>“Yes, what is it? What is the matter?” Arthur rose a furrowed brow.</p><p>“Do you have a fever? Your face is red.”</p><p>“Really?” Sticky sweat from embarrassment Arthur’s back. “Well, I feel fine now.”</p><p>“Hm, I see. I don’t think it’s that awful.” Francis said. “You’re mostly red on the cheeks.”</p><p>“I see, I see.” Arthur shut the door once Francis stepped into the house.</p><p>Francis eyed the open calculus textbook and the math problems written in the notebook’s lined margins. “Did I interrupt anything? If you’re busy, I’ll go now.” He turned to Arthur. “Arthur?”</p><p>Arthur stared up at a blank white wall, a quiet hum fleeing his lips, risen in a soft smile. Francis grinned before his cheek muscles forced a neutral expression on his face.</p><p>“Arthur?” Francis repeated in a louder voice. “Are you busy now?”</p><p>Arthur jumped. “Um, no. No, I’m not. I actually need a break now.” He said as he sat on the couch with Francis, cushions bending underneath their weight with a soft rustle. “Go right ahead.”</p><p>“So, yesterday was a very fun game, non?” Francis started, brushing his wavy hair out his face. “In fact, maybe the funniest game I had. I’ve never seen the entire band this energetic— Arthur? Are you listening?”</p><p>Arthur blinked, his eyes darting from the painting behind Francis back to Francis’s eyes. “Oh, so sorry again. My mind is a bit occupied.” He apologized. </p><p>“Occupied? With what? Is there someone on your mind?” Francis smirked at the blood rushing towards Arthur’s face. </p><p>“N-No!” Arthur insisted, his cry echoing through the house.</p><p>Francis chuckled at his friend’s flustered expression. “Don’t lie. I know when someone is having a crush. Care to tell me who is this special girl or boy?”</p><p>“I am certain that I am not in love with someone!” Arthur’s red face made his scowl less threatening.</p><p>“Honhonhon, I’ll take that as a yes! But if you ever need help with love, Arthur, just remember that I’ll be willing to give you any tips you need!”</p><p>Arthur slammed his calculus textbook shut and held it in front of his face. “If you repeat that I have a crush on someone, I will escort you out of the house immediately!”</p><hr/><p>“Hey, Artie!” </p><p>Arthur’s heart fluttered in excitement when Arthur whisked his head towards Alfred’s booming voice, a wide-eyed yet straight-faced expression plastered on his face. “Oh, um, hello Alfred.” Arthur said, his eyes fixated on Alfred’s baby-blue orbs and his right hand reaching for his trumpet in its case. “H-How are you doing?”</p><p>“Great!” Alfred grinned. If humans could melt, Arthur would be a puddle by now. “The last game was great, dude! We really pumped everything up!” He said, giving Arthur’s back a huge pat.</p><p>“Right! I still can’t believe we beat Paradale. The football team, not us together, I mean not the band! You know what I mean, right?” Arthur spat out the words as his mind whirled and mixed his thoughts together.</p><p>“Yeah!” Alfred laughed as he brought his trumpet case out of a locker, setting it on the floor and kneeling down to open it. “I’m just glad that you were with me! You brought back the energy to the game when I was about to give up!”</p><p>“Of course!” Face warming, Arthur looked away, strands of his sandy-blond hair flicking on his forehead and ears as he shook his head. <em>“Get a hold on yourself, Arthur. It’s just Alfred. Annoying, obnoxiously loud, and boorish Alfred.”</em></p><p>Alfred pushed his mouthpiece into his trumpet. His tongue licked his peach, soft lips before he took a deep breath and played a scale. </p><p>Arthur’s mind began to wander. <em>“I heard somewhere that trumpet players make good kissers. If Alfred and I kiss, does that mean…” </em>Arthur froze as a disgusted grimace formed on his features. <em>“Stop it, Kirkland. Just stop it.”</em></p><hr/><p>Over his mother’s tale about how Mrs. So-and-So recommended this soup recipe, Arthur’s eyes followed the swirling whirlpool created by his stirring spoon. Bits of sprinkled chives followed the flow of the orange-yellow squash soup, its hue reminding Arthur of Alfred’s wheat-blond hair. Arthur’s stomach rose and sank with a quiet sigh through his nose.</p><p>“Arthur dear, is something wrong?” Mrs. Kirkland asked. “You haven’t touched your food.”</p><p>Mr. Kirkland only shot Arthur a brief glance before returning to his thick-covered novel.</p><p>“Nothing, Mum.” Arthur replied. “Nothing.”</p><p>“You’re not deceiving me. I know that lost look in your face. Something is on your mind. Is it something related to band?”</p><p>Arthur gave his vague answer. “Somewhat.”</p><p>“Is it related to music?” Mrs. Kirkland asked again.</p><p>“Not quite.”</p><p>“Are you getting along well with your classmates, then?”</p><p>The tip of Arthur’s brows pinched. “Yes, I get along with them fine. I just can’t stop thinking about one of them.”</p><p>“Oh.” Mrs. Kirkland rose a brow at her husband, who returned the same strange expression. “Why so?”</p><p>Pinkness flushed onto Arthur’s face. “I’m not telling any of you.” His firm voice hardened as his fingers wrapped around his spoon like a kraken pulling a ship down into the sea’s depths.</p><p>“I have a theory on what you’re thinking about.” Mr. Kirkland spoke up. “Do you happen to have certain feelings for this particular individual, Arthur? If so, you know what you and your mother think about dating in high school.”</p><p>“I know, I know.” Arthur shot a glower at his father. “Though, I never specifically said that I am in love with someone.”</p><p>“Young love is an utter waste of time.” Mr. Kirkland continued, deaf to Arthur’s response. “It doesn’t last long.”</p><p> “You and Mum did not bat an eye when Allistor and the others brought home their dates. So why prevent me?”</p><p>“So, you can invest more time in your studies and that silly school band.”</p><p>“Silly?!” The spoon in Arthur’s soup clattered into the bowl sinking into the soup’s depths.</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland jumped at her son’s angry exclaim. “Now, dears,” She attempted to speak up, rising a hesitant hand.</p><p>“I rather see you spend time in music than on some silly boy—”</p><p>The sound of a classic ringing phone from the living room silenced the escalating conversation.</p><p>“Must be from work.” Mr. Kirkland mumbled, picking up the novel from his lap as he rose from his seat, his chair scrapping against the hardwood floor. “Excuse me.”</p><p>Mr. Kirkland’s footsteps grew softer and softer into the hallway, halting seconds before the ringtone.  After looking down the hall for a few moments, Mrs. Kirkland turned towards Arthur and started, “Arthur dear, I must ask you something.”</p><p>“What is it?” Arthur asked as he picked his spoon out of his soup, grimacing at the warm soup dripping onto his fingers.</p><p>“I’ve been brushing this question for many days, but why aren’t you responsive to us any more?”</p><p>“Why do you ask that?” Arthur furrowed his brows, offended that he was even asked the question.</p><p>“I just want to care for my littlest boy. Same with you father.” Mrs. Kirkland said, pouring tea from the kettle into her cup. “Why won’t you accept our care?”</p><p><em>“Neither of you understand me.” </em>Arthur paused, allowing the thought to dissipate before he shrugged his arms and let his emerald gaze fall back to his soup. “I don’t know.” </p><p>Mrs. Kirkland knitted her brows and gave a sad sigh.</p><hr/><p>“I just want to care for you, Arthur.” Arthur grumbled under his breath, scowling at the door he shoved open. “I want the best for you. I’ve heard it all already.”</p><p>Arthur’s sock-clad feet throttled down the white carpeted floor before stepping onto the bed’s crumbling sheets. </p><p><em>“If it was Alfred asking me the same exact questions, I would’ve been able to answer.” </em>Arthur thought that as he curled into a ball. <em>“Alfred…” </em>His eyes narrowing, Arthur set a hand on his beating chest, which throbbed with emptiness.</p><p>With each passing minute, Arthur remained in his spot even as his room darkened with the night sky, hugging the bed covers like if he held someone, Alfred specifically, giving him all the affection he repressed within himself. The body heat soaking into the bedsheets finally drove him to sit up in his bed and reach for his phone on the bed stand. </p><p><em>“Should I…?” </em>Arthur wondered, his text messages to Matthew Williams shining in his eyes and turning his face white. </p><p>Typing a short message, Arthur’s thumb hovered over the blue arrow button. <em>“Hello Matthew. Do you care to tell me if Alfred likes boys or girls?”</em></p><p>Scrunching his brows, Arthur held the backspace as the entire message dissipated. “No. Over my dead body.” He mumbled to himself. “This is my personal matter.”</p><hr/><p>“Alfred? Are you in a rush to go somewhere now?” Arthur asked, his hand clutching his instrument case.</p><p>“Home, technically, but it doesn’t have to be in a rush.” Alfred replied, setting his trumpet case into his bag. “Why do you ask, dude?” </p><p>Arthur’s cheeks began to warm. “I just need a word with you.” He said, pounding heart lightening in relief at the fact his voice did not tremble. </p><p>“Privately?” </p><p>Arthur nodded. </p><p>“Where do you wanna talk?” Alfred pointed down the hallway, where the practice rooms and uniform room connected. “One of the practice rooms? The uniform room?”</p><p>“Perhaps the uniform room.” Arthur said. “Wherever offers more privacy.”</p><p>Alfred and Arthur slid down the hallway, the other band kids’ laughter echoing behind them. Arthur’s heart pounded so loudly, he mistook some of the beats as his or Alfred’s footsteps. The instrument case’s handle was slippery and a warm clammy in his hands. </p><p>“Here, I got it for you, dude.” Alfred held the door to the uniform room open.</p><p>“T-Thank you.” Arthur hoped Alfred did not catch the stutter in his voice.</p><p>“Yeah, no prob!” Alfred let the door close behind him and followed Arthur to the trumpet section’s lockers. With a quiet sigh, Arthur plopped onto the bench and crossed his arms, digging his nails into his forest-green coat. </p><p>“So dude, what’s up?” Alfred asked, the bench making a tiny creak at Alfred’s added weight. “Is everything all right? Like with music and other people here?”</p><p>“Everything’s fine.” Arthur replied with a weak smile. <em>“Thank god we are sitting down, otherwise I would’ve swooned right now!”</em></p><p>“Fine? You sure?” Alfred knitted his brows at Arthur’s whitening knuckles and stiffening shoulder. </p><p><em>“How should I ask him?” </em>Arthur wondered, flinching at his nails digging into the layers of his jacket and wool sweater. <em>“Alfred, do you like boys? Alfred, I just want to say that you’re a good person? Alfred, would you like to go on a date with me? How direct should I be? Dancing around the main question is not going to change the inevitable!”</em></p><p>“Arthur?” Arthur flinched at Alfred’s arm draping over his shoulder like a cape. “You all right?”</p><p>“...I am all right you git!” Face burning, Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred, standing on his toes to rest his chin on Alfred’s board shoulder. Alfred’s heartbeats pumped into Arthur’s chest. </p><p>“Arthur!” Alfred exclaimed, his face turning pink as he slowly set a light hand on Arthur’s warm back. “What’s gotten into you?”</p><p>“You haven’t noticed it by now? You made me fall in love with you, you bloody idiot!” Arthur’s voice rang in the uniform room.</p><p>The walls muffled the classroom door crashing shut.</p><p>“...I do apologize.” Arthur spoke up, releasing Alfred from his hold and looking down at the ground to hide his gaze from Alfred’s wide-eyed gawk. “If you have no interest in boys whatsoever, I understand. I just don’t know another way to tell you that I like you. Because of you, I enjoy music again. Because of you, I enjoy being in this marching band, where I don’t bloody know what I’m doing half of the time. You could have just saw me like how most people do here. Just a washed-up prodigy who cares about being the best at music for himself. But you didn’t. You cared for me when you noticed that I was lonely, even though I did not accept your company at first. I don’t understand how the other band kids don’t see and appreciate that kindness and spirit in you.”</p><p>No words left Alfred’s mouth as Arthur took his hand and rubbed gentle circles with his thumb. </p><p>“I want to get to know you better, more than just mere friends.” Arthur concluded. “If you don’t want to, that is fine with me. I’ll understand.”</p><p>“Oh…” Alfred looked down at Arthur, who still dared not to return the gaze. “Well…”</p><p><em>“He’s saying no.” </em>Arthur’s brows pinched in indication. </p><p>“You know,” Alfred cupped Arthur’s cheek, his hand guiding the smaller blond’s head to face him. “Girls are cute, but I have a thing for guys too. I also have a thing for blond trumpet players with English accents.” Alfred added with a grin. </p><hr/><p>“Hey, Francis?” Matthew asked.</p><p>“Au revoir, Antonio!” Francis waved at the fellow tenor saxophonist walking out the door before turning to Matthew. “Oui, Mathieu?”</p><p>“Did you see Alfred anywhere? I’m ready to go, and I thought that he was waiting for me outside. But he's nowhere!”</p><p>“I don’t remember seeing him leave the building.” Francis replied, putting on his school bag and picking up his saxophone case. “I’ll look for him with you.”</p><p>Francis and Matthew’s steps clicked down the hallway. Pulling the practice rooms’ doors open, their indigo and cornflower eyes peered at the seat stools baked underneath the flickering ceiling light. </p><p>“They must be in the uniform room, then.” Francis said as he and Matthew approached the doors, halting at a muffled yell.</p><p>Matthew jumped. “Who was that?”</p><p>“Sounds like Arthur.” Tip-toeing toward the door, France set his ear on the side of the door and gestured to Matthew to come.</p><p>“Can you hear anything else?” Matthew asked.</p><p>“It sounds like he’s speaking to someone. I can’t hear what he’s saying, though.” Francis replied, before reaching for the door handle.</p><p>Careful to not make a noise, Francis slowly turned the handle and gently pushed the door open. He and Matthew peered through the crack into the uniform room.  </p><p>“—I want to get to know you better, more than just mere friends.” Francis furrowed his brows at Arthur’s statement. “If you don’t want to, that is fine with me. I’ll understand.”</p><p>“You know, girls are cute, but I have a thing for guys too. I also have a thing for blond trumpet players with English accents.” Matthew widened his eyes at Alfred’s response and clasped his hand over his mouth. “I’ll take you out.” </p><p>“On a date or with a sniper rifle?” Arthur asked, earning Alfred’s laugh. </p><p>“That’s enough.” Francis whispered to Matthew as he quietly shut the door. “Let’s go!”</p><p>“They like each other!” Matthew said as he and Francis walked away from the uniform room, past the hallways. “I...I don’t know...I should feel happy for Alfred, but do you think Alfred will tell Arthur about his il—?”</p><p>Francis interrupted, “Non, non. I don’t think so.” He sighed. “He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let anything ruin his chance of getting a boyfriend.”</p><p>“Should we tell Arthur?” Matthew knitted his brows. </p><p>“Maybe we can hint it out? Je ne sais pas.” Francis held the classroom door open for Matthew. Once outside, the two blonds sat down on a bench underneath the tree, its shade rendered useless when a cloud rolled over the sun. “Mon papa always say that we should not interfere with others’ love affairs.” </p><p>“Yeah. Well, we can only hope that maybe the first date didn’t hold out.” Matthew’s uneasy chuckle barely broke the tense silence between him and Francis. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Originally, the chapter was going to be about Arthur asking Alfred to "hang out" and confessing his love at the end. But, I felt that this was something that Arthur wouldn't do. Hence, here's this completely boring chapter that basically describes Arthur realizing that he has feelings for Alfred. The next chapter is going to feature their first date, and afterwards begin the angst that the tags has been promising.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Now a Happy Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur crossed his arms and sighed into the yarn scarf around his neck, leaning back on the bench and shifting his observation from the fountain towards the parking lot. Tens of people emerged, children with their parents, friend groups, and couples. Yet, none had a blond head with a nonconforming cowlick.</p><p><em>“Where is he? He did say that he was coming ten minutes ago.”</em> Arthur glanced at the street clock at one of the corners. <em>“Well, at least he has five minutes until he is late. Then again, I arrived here a half hour ago.”</em></p><p>The icy air stung Arthur’s hand, causing him to set them deep into his green coat’s pocket. As soon as his fingers dug into the pocket’s velvet fabric, a familiar gold flash caught the corners of his eyes. At the corner by the parking lot, Alfred, dressed in his blue parka, urgently typed something into his phone as the crowd walked around him.</p><p>Arthur’s phone vibrated. <em>“hey dude just got here. where you at?”</em></p><p>Arthur replied, <em>“I see you. Wait there. I am coming over.” </em> </p><p>A few seconds after Arthur sent his response, Alfred shot his head up from his phone, glancing around. As Arthur came closer, Alfred ceased his frantic, eager search, his baby-blue eyes fixating on the green-garbed blond and lighting with joy.</p><p>“Arthur! There you are!” Alfred beamed. “What’s up?”</p><p>“The sky.” Arthur answered dryly, pointing up at the grey overcast sky.</p><p>Alfred laughed. “Haha, I get it! Let’s head over to the rink now!”</p><p>Just as when Alfred made a shift turn, he dug his shoes into the cement brick ground after making a large step. “Whoops!”</p><p>“What is it now? Forgot to bring money?” Arthur asked.</p><p>“Naw! I have it!” Alfred slapped his coat’s right pocket as he went to Arthur. “I just forgot that I have a boyfriend.” He said, taking Arthur’s right hand with his left.</p><p>Arthur flinched at the touch. “Alfred!” He cried out, his glare lacking its ferocity due to his reddening cheeks.</p><p>“What?” Alfred gave a dazed look. “I thought couples do this on dates.”</p><p>“Well, um…” Arthur stammered, glancing around for any gawking stares. “I’m just not ready for it yet. I’m so sorry. Maybe later?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure.”</p><p>Side by side, Arthur and Alfred strolled past the row of shops towards the ice-skating rink in silence. Diners filled the burger joint’s tables, a contrast to the barren salad shop next door. Children enlarged their sparkling eyes with glee as their parents opened the door to the toy store, a contrast to a sobbing child whose frowning mother jerked an overpriced monster truck out of her son’s hand. While teenagers wearing anime and video game sweaters trailed into a Hot Topic store, smiling women exited a Victoria’s Secret with pink paper shopping bags in their arms.</p><p>The line for the ice-shaking rink wrapped around the corner. Every few minutes, Arthur and Alfred took a step past the white fences setting the rink’s boundaries. Getting an earful of the two children asking their parents, “Are we there yet?”, Arthur let his gaze fall onto Alfred’s hands, both curled in a gentle fist outside his pocket unbothered by the chilly weather.</p><p>Sensing Arthur’s gaze, Alfred returned the look. With a inaudible gasp, Arthur immediately averted his eyes towards the people gliding on the shiny rink. Like a mirror, Alfred did the same, choosing to watch a couple across the street smooch each other on the cheeks.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, a purple paper tag wrapped around Arthur and Alfred’s wrists. Skates in their hands, they took a seat on a bench and took off their shoes, setting them underneath their seats. Arthur grimaced at the loose laces hanging off his skates.</p><p>“Here, let me help you.” Alfred knelt down to lace Arthur’s skates. “There you go.” He said, giving both a tight knot.</p><p>“Thank you.” Arthur wobbled as he stood up.</p><p>“Do you know how to skate, by the way?” Alfred asked, as he and Arthur headed towrds the ice.</p><p>“No. I don’t.”</p><p>“Here, I’ll show you. I’ve done this a couple of times. Take my hand and follow me.”</p><p>Nodding, Arthur grasped Alfred’s reaching hand.</p><p>“Your hands are cold!”</p><p>“What do you expect? It’s late November.”</p><p>Hands on the barricades, Arthur and Alfred stepped off the dry ground onto the slippery surface. Even with Alfred’s crash course on skating, Arthur never grew accustomed to the foreign activity. He held onto Alfred’s hand, clutching it whenever a reckless teenager or carefree child sped past them. Alfred never cried out in pain at the abrupt clutches, instead choosing to pull Arthur along with his smooth glides. </p><p>“You are holding onto me like a lifeline!” Alfred laughed. “Wanna try to let go of me now?”</p><p>“Well, it isn’t like I can magically be a good skater like you!” Arthur retorted with an eye roll. “This is not because I’m afraid of falling!”</p><p>“Dude, if you fall, you can just get up!”</p><p>“Look out!” A stranger cried out.</p><p>Alfred and Arthur whipped their heads up towards the direction of the voice, widening their eyes at the laughing group of children speeding towards them. Arthur gasped as Alfred pulled him into his arms as giggling blurs of sweaters, puffy jackets, and knitted hats flashed by.</p><p>“Woah, oof!” Alfred grunted, his back meeting the stone-cold surface. He blinked away the stars sparking in his vision, revealing a wide-eyed, flustered Arthur on his chest.</p><p>A few strangers slowed down, giving the two concerned looks. “Are you two okay?” They asked.</p><p>“We’re good!” Alfred answered. “Keep on moving, dudes! We can take care of ourselves!” </p><p>Arthur rolled off Alfred, sitting up and shivering from the ground’s freezing touch. Grunting at the ache pulsing in his upper back and backside, Alfred steadied himself on the ice before pulling Arthur back onto his feet by his hand. Moistness darkened their clothes in blotches.  </p><p>“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you?” Alfred asked as he guided Arthur back to the sidelines.</p><p>“No, I’m not. I didn’t plop onto the ground like you. I’m the one who should be asking that question.” He replied bluntly. </p><p>Alfred laughed. “I had worse pains! Dang, the rink’s getting more crowded, dude! Is there even anyone checking how many people are getting in?”</p><p>Arthur furrowed his brows at the herd of children scampering towards the rink, some with untied laces. A few tweens playfully bumping each other with their elbows trailed behind the kids. </p><p>“I believe it’s best if we leave now.” Arthur said. “Are you finished with skating?”</p><p>“Your call.” Alfred responded.</p><p>Arthur and Alfred stepped out of the rink and wobbled back to the bench where their shoes laid. Cold air whooshed onto Arthur’s feet as he pried the skates off, slipping them back into his black tennis shoes. </p><p>The two returned their skates on the skate counter, where the personnel snatched the boots and set them back on the shelves. “So, you had a good time?” Alfred asked.</p><p>“I spent the majority of the time holding on to you, but I had a fine time.” Arthur answered, as the two exited of the rink’s boundaries. </p><p>“So, what do you wanna do next? It’s pretty chilly. Wanna get something to drink? I know a place with pretty good hot chocolate and tea!”</p><p>“Tea? Oh, you know me well.” Arthur said in the thickest, most posh British accent he mustered. “Sure. Lead the way.”</p><p>“Got it—Huh?” Alfred halted at Arthur’s hand grabbing his.</p><p>Arthur let a smile bloom on his features at Alfred’s confused look. “Earlier, you said that my hands were freezing. Care to warm it up?”</p><hr/><p>In the weekend intervals between the final weeks of fall semester, Arthur told his parents about his “friends’ plans” to go to the movie theater, park, or mall. Although surprised by their son’s abrupt eagerness to go out, Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland gave their approval (silent approval in Mr. Kirkland’s case) with no objections, leaving Arthur free to go out with Alfred without having to sneak out the house. Though, at the beginning of winter break, Alfred told Arthur that he wanted to introduce him to his family.</p><p>“I think they are catching on that I’m seeing someone.” Alfred said to a defensive, nervous Arthur. “So, might as well don’t hide it!”</p><p>Arthur rose a brow. “Will they be happy to see me?”  </p><p>“Of course! My parents are my parents! They won’t bite!” </p><p>Hence, on the first Saturday of break, Arthur found himself in front of the Jones household. </p><p>As the tip of his shoes tapped the ground, Arthur pulled his right hand out the warm comforts of his coat’s pocket and reached for the doorbell, hovering index finger halting centimeters away from the button. The Jones’s household was like any house on the same block. A worn outdoor couch sat in front of the windows, where the dangling window blinds, a bit particularly closed, allowed a little sunlight to stream into the home. A welcome mat greeted potential guests at the foot of the looming locked front door. A tiny potted plant, still retaining its greenness in the midst of the approaching winter, sat at the corner of the porch. </p><p><em>“Why am I so scared? Alfred has nothing to hide. It is not like there are any evidence that he is hiding a body in his yard.” </em>Arthur held his breath as he pressed the doorbell, causing a shiver to run through his clammy hand at the familiar ring behind the wall. </p><p>Heavy footsteps grew louder behind the door. <em>“Please be Alfred, please be Alfred!” </em>Arthur internally begged.</p><p>The doorknob rattled as the door opened.</p><p>“Oh, hey Arthur! You’re here! Come in, dude!” Alfred said, holding the door open for Arthur.</p><p>“Feel free to take a seat here.” Alfred patted the couch facing the television set. “I’m going to get Mom now.” He said, before striding into the kitchen area. “Hey, Mom! Arthur’s here!”</p><p>The leather couch crunched underneath Arthur. Light streaked across its sagging brown surface, though it’s worn spots, around the bottom cushion and back, lacked the luster. Unamused by his reflection on the black television set’s screen, Arthur’s eyes explored the room. A sole ticking clock adorned a barren white wall. Against the stairway was a keyboard, its black and white keys shining. A plain brown mat adorned the floor below the coffee table, which was barren save for the old sports magazine living underneath it. </p><p>“Oh, so this is the boy you were talking about?” Arthur turned his head at a woman’s voice.</p><p>Alfred and his mother emerged from the hall. “Yeah! Arthur! Hey Artie, meet my mom!”</p><p>“Hello, there.” The couch grunted as Arthur got off. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones.” He said as he shook Mrs. Jones’s hand. <em>“I can see where Alfred got his hair color and eyes.”</em></p><p>“Nice to meet you too, Arthur.” Mrs. Jones replied with a smile and twinkling, soft blue eyes. “And you don’t have to be so formal. You can call me ‘Mom’ if you want to.”</p><p>“Mum?” Arthur’s cheeks reddened.</p><p>Alfred laughed. “Arthur’s a dude for formalities! Let him be!”</p><p>“If that is what makes Arthur comfortable, then ‘Mrs. Jones’ works too. Or Shannon.” Mrs. Jones said with an assuring nod. “If you need anything like a drink, let me know.” She told Arthur before disappearing back into the hall. The sound of grocery bags opening crumpled down the hall, followed by an occasional rattling of condiments and a fridge door shutting.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry about that.” Alfred said to Arthur as he guided him back to the sofa. “We got back from shopping a couple minutes before you arrived.”</p><p>“It’s understandable. Food is much more important. Where is your dad?” Arthur asked.</p><p>“He’s had something to do at work, so he’s working today. He should be back after five.” </p><p>Surfing through channels and binging on random movies on the television turned the clock’s hands quickly. In the middle of a rom-com movie, Alfred looked out the windows at the headlights rolling up the driveway. Keys jingled as, in the window, a silhouette strolled up the path to the door. A key slid into a lock, following by a cracking unlocking sound. The door revealing a brunet man dressed in office wear, the light’s shine reflected off his rimless glasses concealing the dark circles underneath his grey eyes. Though, any signs of weariness dissipated from his eyes at the sight of Alfred sitting on the sofa with Arthur.</p><p>“Hey, Dad!” The cushion bounced as Alfred got off and headed towards Mr. Jones with a cheery smile.</p><p>Mr. Jones returned the beam, an uncanny smile that resembled his son’s. “Hello, Alfred!” He laughed, taking off his shoes and giving Alfred a light pat on the back.</p><p>“Dad, meet my boyfriend Arthur.” Alfred gestured towards Arthur, who warily narrowed his eyes. “Arthur, meet Dad.”</p><p><em>“Apparently, that damn cowlick can be passed down by blood.” </em>Arthur stared at the nonconforming curl protruding out of Mr. Jones’s hair, before holding out his right hand. “A fine pleasure to meet you Mr. Jones—<em>ACK!” </em></p><p>Arthur gritted his teeth, holding back a pained cry at Mr. Jones’s death-grip. “Hello, Arthur!” Mr. Jones said in bouncy, energetic tone as he rapidly shook Arthur’s hand, earning Arthur’s nervous, strained smile. “I’m Alfred’s dad! You can call me Mr. Jones or Thomas! Alfred has talked about you to me and my wife a lot recently! He said that you are a great musician, and he’s happy to have you in his section!”</p><p>“Dad, please!” Alfred scratched his neck as he looked away with a red face. </p><p>“I’m happy to have meet you!” Mr. Jones finished before releasing Arthur’s aching hand. </p><p>While Mr. Jones’s steps clobbed up the stairs, Arthur rubbed the stings pulsing in his hand. <em>“I can see where Alfred got that obnoxious yet endearing boisterous personality.”</em></p><p>“Sorry that my dad is kinda loud.” Alfred apologized as he and Arthur returned to the sofa. </p><p>“It is fine. Fortunately, I’ve been accustomed to this kind of brash behavior due to spending endless amounts of time with his son.” A mischievous grin spread across Arthur’s features at Alfred’s pout.</p><p>“Hey!” Alfred exclaimed, only to be silenced by Arthur’s smooch on the cheek.</p><p>“I’m just teasing, love.” Arthur said.</p><p>Alfred gently massaged Arthur’s left hand. “I know, I know. So, when am I going to meet your family?” He asked.</p><p>Arthur frowned. “Hopefully, not anytime soon.” He answered.</p><p>Alfred winced at his boyfriend’s curt tone. “But I introduced you to my parents. Why won’t you?”</p><p>“My family dynamics are quite interesting. Technically, according to my parents’ rules, I shouldn’t be seeing anyone now. And since you’re an only child, you won’t understand how being the youngest of four boys is an absolute nightmare.” </p><p>“Well, can I at least drop by your place then? Just to see how it’s like.”</p><p>“Frankly, I don’t know. My family is always in the house 24/7.”</p><p>Much to Arthur’s unawareness, he did not have to wait long for an opportunity. That night at home, while Arthur sat at his desk reading, Mrs. Kirkland approached him to ask him a question. </p><p>“Arthur, your father and I will be going out of town to pick up Dylan from his dorm tomorrow. Would you like to come with us?” Mrs. Kirkland asked from the doorway </p><p><em>“I rather spend time with Alfred than the rest of you.” </em>Arthur bitterly thought before answering, “No. I already made plans.”</p><p>“You’ve been going out with your friends recently.” Arthur’s hand twitched on his <em>Harry Potter</em> book at his mother’s remark. “That’s good. You must enjoy your break as long as it lasts! We’ll just leave you be, how is that?”</p><p>“That is fine. Oh, Mum? By the way, do you know when Allistor and Connor are returning for the holidays?”</p><p>“Hmmm…” Mrs. Kirkland placed her index finger across the bottom side of her face. “Allistor said he isn’t going to come home until Monday night. He has some post-graduation celebration plans with his friends. As for Connor, he isn’t going to be here until Wednesday. Something having to do with his internship. You have the house to yourself for most of the day tomorrow.” She smiled at her son before strolling out of the doorway’s sight. </p><p>With his mother gone, Arthur set a bookmark in between his book’s pages and reached for his phone sitting close to him at the right side of his desk. </p><hr/><p>“Whoa, dude!” Alfred widened his eyes and gazed around the living room. “Your house is so fancy!”</p><p>Proud to show off their English ancestry, the Kirkland family decorated their house like a traditional English household. The pale-yellow curtains draped over the windows, blending in with the cream walls, where random countryside landscape paintings hung. The sofas, all having the same rose pattern, surrounded the glass coffee table and faced the television set, all placed atop a circular red rug. </p><p>“I think it’s about average.” Arthur replied as he peeked outside for any spying eyes before shutting and locking the front door. “You should see my grandmother’s house back in England. Want anything to drink? We have lots of tea.”</p><p>“You got any soda?” Alfred asked, taking a seat on the couch in front of the TV.</p><p>“I’ll check the back of the fridge.”</p><p>A few minutes later, Alfred gave Arthur a pout as he took a sip from the iced green tea and darted his eyes to the Netflix logo, unwilling to admit that tea was not as disgusting as he initially declared. Initially, the couple kept their eyes on the romantic drama movie playing out on the screen, each of their heads resting on the other’s shoulder. Though, as the movie progressed their eyes grew heavier and heavier, weighted by the its lack of character development and bland plot line. Soon, the two fell asleep, with Arthur’s head resting on Alfred’s chest, and Alfred’s arms wrapped around Arthur, obvious of the sound of the front door unlocking.</p><p>“What the hell is this?!” </p><p>Arthur and Alfred’s eyes snapped open at the shocked exclaim, freezing like a deer in headlights at Allistor Kirkland, whose stood at doorway staring back at the two, jaw hanging and eyes as large as saucers. Behind Allistor, Connor Kirkland gawked at the scene, his bag slipping out of his grasp and falling onto the ground with a heavy thud. </p><p>The air grew tenser with every tick of the grandfather clock.</p><p>“Um, hello there Allister and Connor.” Arthur spoke up, getting off Alfred. “Mum told me you two weren’t arriving home today. What happened?” </p><p>“We wanted to surprise her and Dad.” Allistor answered in a gruff tone before pointing a finger at Alfred. “Only to get surprised by our baby brother sleeping on some random bloke. Who is this? Did you pick him off the street?”</p><p>Alfred clamped his mouth shut, frozen solid by Allistor and Connor’s glares. </p><p>“He is Alfred. He is in the school band with me.” Arthur answered, setting a protective arm across Alfred’s shoulder. </p><p>A nasty grin erected across Connor’s face, sending tremors down Arthur’s spine. “Oh, I see. What kind of relationship do you have with him? Is it a particular special one?”</p><p>Narrowing his eyes, Arthur returned the glare to his older brothers, sealing his lips shut.</p><p>“Artie~” Allistor approached with a hum. </p><p>“Don’t call me that!” Arthur spat, wrapping his arms around Alfred. </p><p>“We’re older than you, Artie.” Allistor snickered. “We know what this is. Don’t try to hide it from us.” </p><p>After a minute-long glare contest, Arthur huffed in defeat. “Fine. Alfred is my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each in the past weeks.” </p><p>“Interesting…” Allistor and Connor nodded at each other before returning their evil looks at Arthur and Alfred. </p><p>“Do you care to introduce Alfred to the rest of our family?” Connor asked. “I’m sure that everyone else, especially Dad, will be very overjoyed to meet him.”</p><p>“N-No.” Arthur stuttered as he and Alfred reciprocated terrified looks. “A-Alfred actually must leave in the next hour.”</p><p>“Oh, too bad.” Allistor shrugged. “Connor, looks like Mum, Dad, and Dylan won’t believe us when we tell them we caught Artie sleeping with another boy on this couch. What we mean by sleeping might having different meanings if you know what I mean.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t.” Arthur growled. </p><p>“We will.” The older Kirkland brothers crossed their arms and sneered. “Unless you introduce Alfred to the rest of us. Then we’ll keep our mouths closed.”</p><p>The rest of the Kirkland family did not arrive home until six. At the sight of a nervously smiling Alfred standing by a red-faced, frowning Arthur, Mr. Kirkland’s roars bellowed through the house, followed by Arthur’s yells. Mrs. Kirkland initially set her hands on her hips and gave Arthur a disapproving frown, though her expression softened as the dispute progressed. Although Allistor, Connor, and Dylan smirked and snorted at the scene for the first few minutes, soon their amused, sadistic grins flipped upside down as they shot each other regretting glances.</p><p>“You what? Alfred is not a delinquent! Why would you say such a thing! You only saw him for several minutes! Does he look like a delinquent?” Arthur protested.</p><p>“I just want to keep my youngest son safe! A part of my heart dies when he engages in some reckless behavior and hurts himself!” Mr. Kirkland re-joined.</p><p>“If you care for me so much, then why don’t you ever show it to me?”</p><p>“I do show it to you! You just won’t get it through that thick skull of yours!”</p><p>“George and Arthur, Let’s stop now.” Mrs. Kirkland stepped in between her son and husband, whose shoulders rose and fell with heavy, frustrated huffs. “Alfred, we’re glad to meet you.” Her calm smile eased some tension building in Alfred’s shoulder. “Feel free to stay as long as you want to.”</p><p>“Uh, t-thank you Mrs. Kirkland.” Alfred gave a weary smile before facing Mr. Kirkland. “M-Mr. Kirkland, I promise to protect your son and treat him well, if that makes you less worried.” </p><p>“...” Face still as red as his hair, Mr. Kirkland shot a glower at Arthur, who glanced back with narrowed emerald eyes, before turning back towards Alfred, who gulped at the older man’s burning hazel gaze. </p><p>“I have my eye on you.” Mr. Kirkland pointed a finger as sharp as his eyes to Alfred, before heading out the door to bring in Dylan’s belongings from his car. Dylan followed after his father without so much of a glance at Alfred. </p><p>“Let’s go follow them.” Allistor said to Connor, who responded with a nod.</p><p>“I didn’t expect everything to become that intense.” Connor whispered as he and Allistor disappeared out the door. </p><p>Alfred jumped at Mrs. Kirkland’s gentle hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, dearie. My husband will warm up to you eventually. Give him some time.” She reassured before following her older sons.</p><p>“Would you like our help?” Arthur called after his mother.</p><p>“No, no. We already have more than enough help!” Mrs. Kirkland answered before stepping outside.</p><p>Looking out the door for a few moments, Arthur faced Alfred with an exasperated sigh. “I’m so sorry, Alfred.”</p><p>“It’s cool, it’s cool.” Alfred responded as he guided Arthur back onto the couch.</p><p>“Now do you understand why I didn’t want to introduce you to my family? If I knew my two older brothers were coming home today, I would’ve prevented this.” </p><p>“Nah, it’s fine! I think all your family members are cool!” Alfred said, squeezing Arthur’s hand.</p><p>Arthur rose a brow. “Even my dad?”</p><p>Alfred’s smile fell. “Well…” He started, scratching the back of his neck</p><p>“Now that he knows that I’ve been seeing you, he’ll do anything to stop it. He’ll make me stop seeing you.”</p><p>“Naw, don’t worry!” A grin rose on Alfred’s face. “If you’re worried, I’ll think of a way to make sure our relationship lasts!”</p><p>“You promise?” Arthur tightened his hold on Alfred’s hand.</p><p>“Promise.”</p><p>Though, Alfred broke his promise, not out of ill attempt or weak character, but because simply he had no need to. The day after, Arthur asked his parents if he could see Alfred tomorrow, a hesitant, timid request approved by Mrs. Kirkland’s nod and voicing of how sweet Alfred seemed to be. Allistor rose his brows with a smirk, and Connor and Dylan made googly eyes at each other. While Mr. Kirkland responded with an evil eye, he only said, “Just do what you want. I can’t stop you. But I refuse to be responsible for any upcoming drama and heartbreak.”</p><p>With every date, whether it took place outside in town or within Alfred or Arthur’s home (more likely the former’s), Arthur’s blooming love grew larger and larger. Any self-doubt or obstacle, such getting accustomed to the marching band, his bitter views towards music, and his family’s disapproval of him, meant nothing now that he had Alfred in his hand. With Alfred by Arthur’s side, Arthur was confident that things would only get better.</p><p>In short, Alfred made Arthur’s life happy.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Two Weeks Later…</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“heey babe, my mom gave me two movie tickets to see the latest Sherlock Holmes movie. interested?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Interested? I love Sherlock Holmes! When is it?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“tickets for tomorrow at 1”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Tomorrow works! See you tomorrow, love.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“cool! meet me at the theater! cant wait to see you, babe. love you! </em>
  <em>❤️</em>
  <em>”</em>
</p><p>As soon as Alfred pressed the send button, he flopped off his bed, smile falling as he grounded his teeth at the stings shooting up his legs, the aches pulsing in his feet’s soles, and the pain swelling in his knee joints. “Damn, my body’s been hurting recently. Sometimes the medicines don’t have any effect.” He said to himself, taking his phone off his bed and smiling at Arthur’s messages. “But with Arthur around, I can handle it.”</p><p>Face illuminated by his phone’s screen, Alfred took stiff, heavy steps down the hallway, occasionally glancing up to watch his path. A flicked switch engulfed him and the staircase in light, trailed by the stairs creaked under Alfred’s steps. </p><p><em>“hey mom, Arthur said yes! :)” </em>Alfred typed before hitting send and starting on another message. <em>“we are going tomorrow at—.”</em></p><p>Numbness engulfed Alfred’s limbs as he rose his foot to take a step, leaving him at the mercy of gravity’s invisible push. </p><p>Alfred clenched his eyes shut at the hardwood stairs zipping towards him.</p><p>“CRASH!” Pain smashed against Alfred’s head, where blood ran down the right side of his face. Limbs sprawled on the landing, Alfred’s eyes shut as the blurry spinning world stilled into pure, dark silence, a silence broken hours later when he awoke to his mother’s horrified shriek. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here comes the angst...<br/>Yet, another long-ish chapter. I did not intend this chapter to be super long, but it's probably due to all the dialogue.<br/>I also updated the summary and added some more tags just to provide more warnings. Initially I didn't want to include these tags out of concern with spoiling the story, but now I just realized that I might be writing about a sensitive topic. Some readers also commented that they know where the story is going because they've seen Your Lie in April before. Lastly, by this chapter I think it's clear that there is something not right with Alfred.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. No Reason to Lie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As he blinked his blurry vision clear at his phone’s bright screen, Arthur frowned at Alfred’s message.</p><p>
  <em>“hey babe, sorry but I can’t make it to the movies. family emergency </em>
  <em>😢</em>
  <em>” </em>
</p><p>The bedcovers rustled as Arthur sat up in his bed, shoulders trembling from his room’s coldness as he typed, <em>“Bummer. But don’t worry, I understand. Is everything fine?”</em></p><p>Alfred’s response did not arrive until Arthur finished dressing. The second his phone tumbled on his dresser, Arthur snatched it off and darted his eyes to its screen.</p><p>
  <em>“yea babe. we got this taken care of. miss you </em>
  <em>😘</em>
  <em>”</em>
</p><p><em>“I miss you too, love.” </em>Arthur texted back.</p><p>Arthur announced the cancellation of plans to his family over tea, toast, and eggs, news responded with his mother’s sad smile, his brothers’ apathy, and a glad gleam in his father eyes peering from the newspaper. After breakfast, Arthur barricaded himself within his bedroom’s walls, his random trumpet blares and sloppy keyboard cover of <em>Canon in D</em> being the only indicators of his prescience. Although Allistor, the most infuriating of all his brothers, was going to be at the hospital for his post-undergrad part-time job, Connor and Dylan still lurked within the house’s halls and rooms, possibly plotting ways to annoy their baby brother.</p><p>Jittering lips twitching and heart panging in longing, Arthur gave a sad look at his trumpet before shutting the case. <em>“It is only past two, and I already miss that git. Oh well, I cannot force him to be by my side constantly, though. Life happens.” </em></p><p>At six pm, Mrs. Kirkland called her sons down for dinner. Arthur strolled down the halls and went down the stairs a few steps away behind Connor and Dylan.</p><p>“Hey Artie, are you missing that Alfred like crazy now?” Dylan teased as the three entered the dining room. </p><p>Arthur glowered at Dylan’s smirk. “No. I’m not a crazy lovebird like you all make it sound like.” He retorted, his chair’s legs scraping across the floor with his pull. Once seated, Arthur scooped some roasted (or slightly-burnt) vegetables onto his plate, taking more interest in counting the number of rosemary speckled on the veggies than Connor asking their mother about going out for pizza tomorrow, and Dylan mentioning a video game he and his friends binged in the last few days.</p><p>Mr. Kirkland and Allistor arrived home fifteen minutes later. “Apologizes for my tardiness.” Mr. Kirkland said as he set his briefcase down besides his chair. “Traffic was very heavy.”</p><p>“It’s past five.” Mrs. Kirkland responded, pouring her husband a cup of steaming tea. “Everyone is getting off work at this time.”</p><p>“I was helping a patient and kinda got caught up.” Allistor spoke up, taking the empty seat at Arthur’s right. </p><p>“It’s understandable. Better late than never.” Mrs. Kirkland said to her husband and oldest son. “By the way, how was your first day at work Allistor?”</p><p>“Very busy.” Allistor answered, cutting into a slice of beef. “But it’ll provide experience to put on my resume. Also,” Allistor looked towards Arthur, who separated chunks of potatoes, carrots, and squashes into separate piles on his plate. “I saw your boyfriend today, Artie.”</p><p>Arthur returned Allistor’s sentence with a raised brow. “What?” He asked, voice full of suspicion.</p><p>“When I was driving out of the parking lot, I spotted Alfred and I think his mum leaving the hospital. Didn’t stop the car and call Alfred out because I figured it’ll embarrass you. Do you know anything about it?” </p><p>Line appearing in between his brows, Arthur narrowed his eyes, since Allistor lacked his typical irritating mischievous shine in his eyes. “Well…” Arthur started. “Alfred did message me saying that he had a family emergency. I assumed that one of his relatives got hospitalized. Why are you asking? Are you trying to imply something?”</p><p>“Just wanted to make sure my little brother’s boyfriend isn’t lying to ‘em.” Allistor shrugged. </p><p>Arthur slammed his fist on the table, shooting daggers at his oldest brother. Dishes clattered, and tea splashed out teacups from the force. A gasp fled the stunned Mrs. Kirkland’s lips, and Connor and Dylan's stares hooked onto Arthur. Setting his elbow on the table, Mr. Kirkland pitched the bridge of his nose and mumbled something about lovesick dramatic teenagers. Despite being in the crosshairs of Arthur’s death glare, Allistor retained his neutral deadpan face, unyielding to Arthur’s anger. </p><p>“Alfred would never lie to me! Stop stirring shite!” Arthur scowled.</p><p>“Arthur, calm down poppet.” Mrs. Kirkland quickly spoke. “Don’t cause a commotion now, boys.”</p><p>With a silent sigh, Arthur sat back down in his sat, still frowning at Allistor.  </p><p>“Really?” Allistor rose a brow. “Alfred would never trick you?”</p><p>“I am sure of it.” </p><p>“Ok.” Allistor replied, his chair creaking as he leaned back. “Just wanted to mention that love makes people do stupid things.”</p><p><em>“That git—!” </em>Before he could yell out obscurities, Arthur bit his tongue, since Mrs. Kirkland gave him a stern, warning look.</p><p>A few minutes later, the Kirkland family were back in their typical routine over dinner. While Mr. Kirkland regarded Allistor’s plan to take a gap year before med school with top earnest, and Mrs. Kirkland chuckling at Dylan and Connor’s college tales, Arthur sat in silence, chewing his food into mush and replaying the heated conversation with Allistor over and over in his mind. </p><p><em>“Come to think of it, Alfred did mention that he is anemic once.” </em>Arthur slowly swallowed, furrowing his brows at the plate, still half-full with food. <em>“Did he use a family emergency as a cover-up for his own hospital visit? Then why would he need to hide that from me? But I shan’t demand him to tell the truth. After all, Alfred could be telling the truth. I don’t want to come off as possessive. Perhaps I can check in with him.”</em></p><p>Hence, once when he finished his meal and drink, Arthur slipped away from the dining table, his family’s lively voices chattering behind him as he entered the living room and sat on the couch.</p><p><em>“Hello, love. Just want to check in with you.” </em>Arthur texted, shifting himself to lie down on the couch, sandy blond hair sprawled on a pillow and socked feet tapping on the couch’s arm in front of him. <em>“Everything doing ok?”</em></p><p>Setting his phone on his stomach, Arthur stared up at the ceiling lights, squinting at the white artificial rays before shifting his gaze to the black television screen.</p><p>A few minutes later, Alfred response. <em>“heeeey babe! yeah everythings doing ok! thanks for checking up on me! </em><em>❤️</em><em>”</em></p><p>Arthur began to type, <em>“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” </em></p><p>Before Arthur could send the message, another messages from Alfred popped up. <em>“—again im so sorry that we couldnt see the movie today :( wanna make it up tomorrow?”</em></p><p>“Always interrupting, even though text.” Arthur grumbled, hitting the backspace to erase his question. <em>“Sure, sure. Do you have any ideas?” </em>He typed.</p><p>
  <em>“I actually dont really know tbh </em>
  <em>😅</em>
  <em> why dont you decide? im the one dragging you all over the place lol”</em>
</p><p>Arthur took a moment to think before responding with, <em>“Anything goes. If you would like to take things easy, just visiting you at your home will suffice. What time are you thinking?”</em></p><p>As he waited for Alfred’s answer, Arthur said to himself, “Maybe. I can ask Alfred what happened today when I see him tomorrow.”</p><hr/><p>The next day after lunch, Arthur drove to Alfred’s house. Slugging his book bag, which contained three novels and headphones, Arthur walked up the empty driveway to the front door.</p><p>Arthur rang the doorbell. Seconds after the doorbell’s chime, Alfred opened the door. “Hey babe.” He greeted, allowing Arthur in and shutting the door.</p><p>“Hello, love.” Arthur said, setting his bag down at the foot of the couch. His smile fell at the white bandages wrapped around Alfred’s head. “What’s that?”</p><p>“Oh, this?” Alfred pointed at the bandages and gave a strained large smile, its whiteness overshadowing the apprehension his eyes. “Just slipped while messing around with some younger relatives in the hospital yesterday. Luckily, it happened in the hospital, you know?”</p><p>Arthur raised a brow at Alfred's laugh, which lacked its cocky volume and trembled with uneasiness. </p><p>“Messing around with younger relatives?” Alfred’s smile shrunk at the suspicion in Arthur’s voice. “What l happened yesterday? Care to tell me?”</p><p>“Weeeeeell,” Alfred started, looking down at the floor. “You see, one of my uncles fell down the stairs and got hurt pretty bad. His wife quickly took him to hospital and they did some scanning on him to see if everything’s all right. My uncle’s pretty close to my mom, who is his sister, so basically when anything happens to either of them, they are there for each other. So anyway, my uncle has a bunch of little kids. To distract them, I played a game with them outside the parking lot as the grownups waited for the results. Annnnd then I slipped and smashed my head on the floor—I mean the curb. You get it?”</p><p>Arthur crossed his arms. “In the end, is everyone fine? Including yourself?”</p><p>“Yeah! Uncle is still in the hospital just for the doctors and nurses to check him for a few days. And I should be fine! I haven’t been feeling any signs of a concussion, so everything’s fine!”</p><p>Arthur still rose his brows at Alfred’s answers, though any doubt crossing his mind vanished within the next several minutes when he and Alfred, both seated on the worn couch, did their own activities separately, their prescience alone offering enough company. Arthur’s face was in his <em>The Great Gatsby </em>book<em>,</em> and Alfred’s was in his laptop. Music coming from earphones separated them into different worlds. </p><p>A half-hour in, Arthur’s gaze, worn by tiny black text, wandered off his book to Alfred’s laptop, catching the music notes being inserted into the electronic bars.</p><p>Arthur pulled his earphones out and asked “What’s that?” He pointed to the composing program on the screen.</p><p>Alfred unplugged an earphone. “Just a music program for arranging, transcribing, composing, and all that fancy stuff.” He answered.</p><p>“Interesting. Are you composing your own song?”</p><p>“Naw, that takes a lot of hard work! I’m just making an arrangement of ‘Tongue Tied’ for a marching band like ours! Since Dad got it for me, I haven’t been able to keep my hands off it!”</p><p>“‘Tongue Tied’? I’ve never heard that song before.” Arthur said, opening his phone’s Spotify and typing the name into the search bar.</p><p>“You gotta! I’m almost done with this arrangement, so when you’re ready, I can show it to you!”</p><p>“Now I’m intrigued. Have you completed other arrangements?” Arthur asked. </p><p>“Nope! ‘Tongue Tied’ is my first one! Do you think the band would play it if I showed it to Mr. Edelstein?” Stars in Alfred’s eyes shined in wonder.</p><p>“Perhaps? I don’t know the rules and regulations behind performances and arrangements.” Before Arthur put his earphones back in, he asked, “After this song, what is the next song you are interested in arranging?”</p><p>Alfred put on his thinking face. “I don’t know. I got a lot of choices. Do you have any ideas?”</p><p>“No.” Was Arthur’s curt answer.</p><p>“C’mon! How about this: what’s a song that you really, really like?”</p><p>Arthur’s answer was simple. “‘Somebody to Love’ by Queen.”</p><p>“Then that’ll be my next arrangement for you and the both of us.” Alfred smiled at Arthur. “Because I found you to love, and you found me to love.”</p><p>Chest growing warm with affection, Arthur threw his arms over Alfred, ignoring the sound of his book flapping shut as it struck the ground. “What did I ever do to deserve everything from you?” He asked, resting his chin on Alfred’s shoulder.</p><p>“Nothing.” Alfred stroked Arthur’s hair with a heartfelt smile. “You don’t to do anything to earn my love.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welp, here's a shorter chapter. There was originally more written for it, but I decided to save it for the next chapter just to not make the transition wonky and and story look rushed.<br/>For those of you who are curious, the program Alfred used in this chapter is MuseScore. Some friends and I used this program to create arrangements for fun, classes, or halftime performances in my college's marching band. While it might not seem relevant now, Alfred's promise to Arthur to arrange "Somebody to Love" will be pretty important later in the story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Something More to Him</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Context Notes:<br/>High schools in America are divided into 2 semesters, each with two quarters. I think fall semester is just split into two "fall" quarters, and spring semester consists of winter quarter and spring quarter.<br/>Blocks refer to the formation marching bands take, particularly in parades.<br/>"Guiding" refers to how bandsmen keep their lines straight and keep equal spacing between each row. In Arthur's band, everyone is checking to the person to right to make sure they aren't going too fast or too slow.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>January marked the beginning of winter quarter. Upon returning to school, Arthur and Alfred initially planned to keep their relationship hidden from their friends, a plan pushed by Arthur when Alfred tried to sneak a smooch from him at the beginning of lunch. </p><p>“No, not here!” Arthur exclaimed with a frown, hand on Alfred’s puckered lips to block Alfred’s romantic advances.</p><p>Backing away, Alfred frowned. “Why? It’s been a month already, and we haven’t even kissed once!”</p><p>“Number one: Consider consent.” Arthur listed. “I’m not comfortable yet. Number two: If word gets out of our relationship, I can’t imagine what other people will say about us.” </p><p>“Well, kids our age kiss in public all the time! Look there!” Alfred pointed at a football jock and cheerleader clamming their tongues down each other's throats.</p><p>“Ew.” Arthur recoiled and winkled his nose. “Do you really want to express our feelings for each other to the world like that?”</p><p>“I thought that’s what couples do! Showing each other how they love each other! But if you don’t want to, I’m cool with it.”</p><p>For the first week, the Global High Band only saw Arthur and Alfred as close friends, united by their instrument and isolation from the rest. However, the entire band was a close-knitted clique consisting of over a hundred bodies. Off campus, the band’s eyes lurked everywhere, from restaurant joints and coffee shops to parks and the streets. Soon, it did not long for the entire band to whisper and point at Arthur and Alfred whenever the two arrived. </p><p>An encounter with Matthew and Gilbert marked the moment Arthur realized his relationship leaked out. At the end of 8<sup>th</sup> period before Arthur left the band room with Alfred, the blond mellophone player and albino tenor saxophonist halted them.</p><p>“A word with me? Is it serious?” Arthur asked, raising a brow.</p><p>Matthew answered after a hesitant pause. “Kinda? If you’re in a rush, then…”</p><p>“Ja, ja, ja!” Gilbert interrupted his boyfriend with a raised hand. “It is important.”</p><p>“I suppose I have some time to spare for you two.” Arthur said. “Is this a private matter?”</p><p>“Ja. Let’s go into one of the practice rooms and talk.” Gilbert pointed down the band room’s hall.</p><p>“Fine, fine.” Arthur replied before facing Alfred. “Alfred, you may leave ahead of me. I don’t want to keep you waiting.”</p><p>“Um, sure.” Alfred responded with a blank expression. “Well, I’ll be waiting outside for you if you don’t mind.”</p><p>Arthur nodded before heading to the practice rooms with Matthew and Gilbert, catching a glimpse of Alfred’s narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, an expression of suspicion.</p><p>Gilbert shut the practice room’s door and joined Arthur and Matthew in the center of the cramped room. Crossing his arms, Arthur questioned, “So, what is it?”</p><p>Hands on his hips, Gilbert gave Matthew a calm look and nod, prompting the wavy-haired blond to say, “Well, I don’t really know how to start this but… Recently we’ve been hearing about how you and Alfred have gotten pretty close…”</p><p>Arthur’s back grew clammy with sweat. “...And?”</p><p>“We just wanted to know if you and Alfred are actually together.” Matthew finished, swallowing nervously. </p><p>“Why are you asking?” Arthur narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“Well, Alfred was blabbering about it to me, and Gilbert, and we were just wondering if he was joking or exaggerating. You know how he is, right?”</p><p><em>“Guess I can’t keep this a secret anymore.” </em>Arthur internally sighed to himself. “Yes, Alfred and I are dating.”</p><p>“See! I told you there was something with ‘em!” Gilbert blurted out with a laugh, giving a slap on Matthew’s back. </p><p>“Gil!” Matthew exclaimed, shooting Gilbert an annoyed look.</p><p>Arthur spoke up. “Is that all you two want to know?”</p><p>Gilbert responded, “Just one more thing. Why Alfred? What’s something you see in him?”</p><p>“He made my experience in this band enjoyable, and he helped me find fun and meaning in music again.” Arthur answered. “What is not to love about him?”</p><p>“Well…” Matthew started, knitting his brows. </p><p>“Go on, spit it out.” Arthur coaxed.</p><p>“...Never mind.” Matthew finally replied, giving Arthur a weak smile. “It’s not that important. Thanks for answering. Sorry to take up your time.”</p><p>Before Arthur could respond, Matthew slipped out the practice room’s door and hurried down the hall. “Hey, Birdie!” Gilbert called after the blond. “Danke, Arthur. See you tomorrow.” He said before hurrying after Matthew. “Matthew!”</p><p>Arthur stared at the closed door and replayed the conversation over and over in his mind. <em>“What were they trying to get from me?” </em>He wondered.</p><p>Obviously, Alfred and Arthur were not the only couple in the Global High Band. Roderich and Elizabeta had been together since their freshmen year, deemed as an ideal couple by the band. Gilbert and Matthew, one loud and cocky and the other quiet and mild-mannered, demonstrated how opposites attract, an adored romantic trope found in real life. Ludwig and Feliciano were not an official couple, though that did not stop their friends from shipping the two, given Ludwig’s particular gentleness towards Feliciano’s neediness. Similarly, Antonio and Lovino were also shipped together. While neither of them (especially Lovino) explicitly stated they were together, and Lovino always called Antonio a fucking bastard, Lovino also never screamed at Antonio to back the fuck away whenever the latter showered him with affection and love.</p><p>Arthur and Alfred shared the other couples’ traits. He and Alfred embodied couple goals, since the two found love in each other. Despite checking all the requirement boxes for cute couples, Arthur and Alfred earned the other band kids’ dirty looks when they strolled hand-in-hand into the band room or the lunch circle.</p><p>“Oh look, it’s <em>them </em>again.” Mathias whispered to Jett as Arthur and Alfred passed them during lunch.</p><p>“Is Arthur that desperate, mate? Hold on. The bloody real question is if it’s Alfred’s that desperate.” Jett replied.</p><p>Arthur shut the two other trumpets with a quick, unamused glare.  </p><p>“Babe, what’s wrong?” Alfred asked. He and Arthur sat in their own spot a few feet away from their section. </p><p>“Didn’t you hear what they just said?” Arthur darted his eyes at Mathias and Jett like a pointing finger.</p><p>“I heard nothing. But even if I did,” Alfred said, taking Arthur’s hand. “I wouldn’t give a damn about what they think as long as you’re with me.”</p><p>The rude remarks were more directed towards Alfred. Given how most of the other band kids rolled their eyes, groaned, and glowered at Alfred’s sunny disposition and obnoxious loud voice, Arthur presumed that the ugly characteristic referred to Alfred’s lively personality. Though, even if Arthur took Alfred’s hand, allowed Alfred to wrap his arm around his waist, and (absolutely too personal!) snuggled together after finishing their last bites from their lunches, nothing convinced their peers that their relationship was going to last.</p><p>Including Francis, the band’s “love coach” everyone runs to for advice on pursuing romantic relationships. </p><p>One night, Arthur completed the final reading question for his AP Psychology homework. As he leaned back in his desk sheet and rubbed the corners of his eyes, the doorbell rung through the house.</p><p>Arthur’s steps thundered down the hall and clobbered down the stairs, hurrying towards the front door. A peek through the peephole revealed Francis on the porch, in his snuggly school sweat jacket, sweater turtleneck, and sweatpants.</p><p><em>“Strange. Francis didn’t message me about seeing me.” </em>Arthur thought as he opened the door. “Hello there, frog.”</p><p>“Bonjour, Arthur.” Francis greeted with a small smile that masked the graveness in his voice. “Desole for the last notice.”</p><p>“It’s fine. I’m nearly done with all my assignments for tonight. Why didn’t you message me?” Arthur asked with a funny look. “I’d hate to keep you waiting in the cold.”</p><p>“There is a somewhat serious matter that I want to discuss with you. I didn’t want to wait long for a response.”</p><p>“I see.” Arthur shivered from the night air flowing into the house. “Where do you want to discuss this? Indoors is much warmer, though my family might overhear.”</p><p>“On the porch is fine.” Francis said.</p><p>Grabbing his coat from the coat hanger, Arthur slipped into the winter garment as he followed Francis onto the porch. Icy air nipped their noses as they sat on the swing seat, its chains and frame groaning beneath them. Across from them, dew forming on the lawn glistened in the street lamp’s rays. </p><p>“So, what is it?” Arthur asked his childhood friend and rival. “What is this about?”</p><p>“It’s about your relationship with Alfred.”</p><p>Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tell me you’re here to tell me how our relationship is despised in the band! If that’s true, you may return home now. I’ve already heard enough whispering and gossiping about us.”</p><p>“No, it’s not that.” Francis said, spending a few seconds thinking of what to say next. “I see how much you changed since Alfred came into your life. You’ve become happier. I’ve never seen you like this for a long time.” </p><p>“Well, yes.” Arthur replied. “That is the reason why I’m dating him. He made me happy, and I made him happy. You can say that both of us found someone to love in each other.”</p><p>“I think we can all say that when we find that special someone, non? But I want to ask, how serious are you about this relationship?”</p><p>“What are you exactly asking?”</p><p>“Are you dating Alfred for fun, or are you treating it as a serious relationship? For long-term purposes.” Francis wrapped his index and thumb finger around his left ring finger.</p><p>“Certainly not for fun. If Alfred and I can remain together for the next few years, it’ll be wonderful. Frankly I can’t tell right now. Like what you mentioned once, we’ll all go our separate ways after graduating next year.”</p><p>“Oui. Well, that’s nice to know. It’s many people’s dream to marry their high school crush and sweetheart. Though,” Francis started with a firmer voice, “will you stick with Alfred through thick and thin?”</p><p>Arthur was caught off-guard by the change in Francis’s tone. “Of course! We are lovers! That’s what couples do! Stay for each other!”</p><p>“Would you still stay with Alfred and see him the same way if…he has something?” </p><p>“Has something? What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“For example, if he was blind, deaf, or disabled.”</p><p>Arthur crossed his arms. “I don’t understand your question. I mean, if I met him and he was like that, my initial feelings for him might be different. But now that I know him, I’ll be willing to support him, no matter what.”</p><p>“Really?” The air grew colder at Francis’s question.</p><p>“Really. Why do you ask that? Is there something I need to know about Alfred?” Arthur crossed his arms. </p><p>Francis got off the seat, making it swing from his movement. “That’s something that I think Alfred should be responsible for telling you since he is your boyfriend.” Francis answered. “It’s not my position to tell you.”</p><p>A car drove down the street, the asphalt road cracklings underneath its tires. </p><p>“...Anything else?” Arthur retained his stiff position. </p><p>“Non. Merci for taking your time to listen to me. I’ll be heading home right now.” Francis said.</p><p>Arthur watched Francis’s figure grow smaller as Francis headed down the driveway, across the street, and up the path towards his home, disappearing into the front door. Getting off his seat and hugging his arms, Arthur shot a final glower across the street before heading inside. </p><p><em>“What is that frog trying to ask me?” </em>Arthur questioned, relishing the indoor warm air and shutting the door behind him. <em>“Is he referring to Alfred’s anemia? Why does everyone find it so repulsive?”</em></p><hr/><p>Winter quarter came with concert band and other performances. On Mondays and Wednesdays, the Global High Band remained on campus for an extra one and a half hours, seated in front of the black stands and following Mr. Edelstein’s baton. Instruments not present in the marching setting, such as the bassoon, oboe, and marimba, were dusted off and brought into the classroom’s lights. While the concert band setting was the kind of music performance Arthur was most familiar with, the setting also brought him back to the days when music was a chore not an enjoyment.</p><p>Hence, Arthur much preferred Friday rehearsals for the Day of Music.</p><p>The Day of Music was an annual festival held in the city, revolved around celebrating all genres of music. The parade, a major part of the event, consisted of floats and multiple bands from throughout the state. Global High was one of many high school marching bands patriating in the parade.</p><p>Being a large city event, the parade was televised. As Arthur later learned, it was every band kids’ dream to be caught on camera even for a measly second. A tiny egocentric part of him desired the spotlight. His brothers might have appeared in the town’s newspaper for being the school’s star <strike>soccer</strike> football players, but neither of them appeared on the screen for millions to see. </p><p>And to make things better, he was next to Alfred in the parade. It would be a memorable moment for the two of them. </p><p>One Friday afternoon, parade rehearsal began as usual. After finishing warming up and rehearsing their parade songs, the band got into their block on the street. Roderich led the band around the street, swinging his mace with every step and passing commands signaling the song to play. Mr. Edelstein and a few parent volunteers trailed the band, each holding a conducting baton, or tugging wagons with water bottles and carrying first aid kits.</p><p>“Ok! Let’s stop for a break! Be back in five minutes!” Mr. Edelstein announced when the band finished their first practice round, blowing into his whistle to mark the beginning of break.</p><p>The band dissipated into different groups, dividing into different friend groups or instrument sections.</p><p>“Gosh, I really need to work out more often!” Mathias groaned to Jett, who nodded wearily.</p><p>“Yeah, mate! My legs are going to fall off!”</p><p>Arthur and Alfred took a seat on the curb, a few feet away from the other trumpets. “My, I don’t know how I’ll be able to last the entire parade!” Arthur remarked, stretching his legs. “I am completely exhausted—Um, Alfred? Are you listening to me?”</p><p>Alfred jolted up. From the moment his bottom met the concrete curb, he was drifting off. “Hah… Sorry… Ah… I wasn’t listening, babe. Can you repeat that?”</p><p>Arthur knitted his brows. “You look so pale, and you’re panting heavily. Are you fine? Need some water?”</p><p>“I’m good, I’m good.” Alfred gave a weak smile. “Just really tired.”</p><p><em>Must be his anemia.” </em>Arthur assumed before telling Alfred, “If you need a break, don’t push yourself.”</p><p>“I won’t. Thanks, Artie.”</p><p>Five minutes later, the band returned to their block formation. Any concern regarding Alfred’s anemia was forced in the back of Arthur’s thoughts, shoved aside by focusing on guiding to his right to keep the row straight.</p><p>While the band made their round down the street again, Arthur glanced ahead for any signals and to his right at Alfred.</p><p><em>“Only three more weeks until the parade.” </em>Arthur reassured to himself, taking a glimpse to his right. Alfred marched beside him with half-lidded drowsy eyes, posture not as high and straight with its usual vigor. <em>“That should be enough time for my body to become accustomed to all that marching.” </em></p><p>A glance ahead, no signal. A glance to the right, Alfred. Arthur continued to ramble to his thoughts. <em>“I’m thankful that we are playing music from our football shows.” </em></p><p>Glance ahead, still no signal. <em>“It’s already stressful enough perfecting music for concert band.” </em>Glance to the right, Alfred was gone. <em>“I—Alfred?!”</em></p><p>“Alfred!” Arthur exclaimed in horror, whipping around with a whitening face and terror-stricken, wide eyes.</p><p>Staring band kids from the rows behind Arthur’s stood around Alfred, who lied on the ice-cold asphalt ground, eyes shut, breaths shallow, and still as a doorknob. His arms protectively wrapped around his trumpet, protecting it from any potential scratches and dents from the fall.</p><p>“Move aside, move aside.” The whimpering Feliciano and frowning Lovino made way for Arthur, who placed a trembling hand on Alfred’s head. “What are you all gawking at? Get him off the bloody road!”</p><p>“No. Don’t.” Ludwig ordered in a strict tone. “If he broke something, moving him will make the injury worse. Oi! Stop the band!”</p><p>“Stop! Stop!” Feliciano exclaimed towards the first half the block, who marched further and further away. “Someone fell!”</p><p>“Hold on! Hold on! Stop!” The band kids relayed the urgent message to their peers. “Stop, stop!”</p><p>Elizabeta, in front of the block with the other trombones, finally brought the message to Roderich. Without signaling the entire stop commend, Roderich immediately turned around and held a quick fist up, his firm demeanor reflecting the pressing situation.   </p><p>“Make room, make room!” The circle surrounding Alfred dissipated, making a path way for Roderich and Mr. Edelstein.</p><p>“Remain in the sidelines until we get this situation under control.” Mr. Edelstein barked his orders at the band kids, who nodded and backed away without a question. “That includes you, Mr. Kirkland.”</p><p>Furrowing his brows, Arthur nodded and submitted to the band director’s command. As he took a step back onto the sidewalk, he looked over his shoulder and stared at the scene. To his relief, behind the growing circle of concerned adults, Alfred regained consciousness. Dim eyes flickering, he shifted his arm to hoist himself up, only to be stopped by a warning hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Arthur saw the exact occurrence before, on the field during the third band competition. Yet, apprehension contorted in his chest, nagging him that there was something not normal with the situation. Obviously, anemia was a health condition, but Arthur already accepted it as a characteristic of Alfred before they began dating.</p><p>Perhaps this uneasiness was due to Arthur’s lingering fear that Alfred might faint during the parade. How could Arthur stop an entire parade if Alfred suddenly collapsed?</p><p>Or, to be more precise, how could Arthur help Alfred if he knew so little of Alfred’s condition? Arthur’s fear transitioned into irritation. <em>“Something is being hidden from me.” </em>he crossly thought.</p><p>A soft hand rested on Arthur’s shoulder. Flinching at the touch, Arthur whisked his head around with a glower.</p><p>“Arthur? You ok?” Matthew’s soft voice asked with worry laced in his tone.</p><p>Matthew and Francis stood by Arthur, each giving sympathetic looks to the thick-browed blond. Arthur’s glare softened.</p><p>“I’m fine, I suppose.” Arthur replied, as he sat on the curb. Imitating Arthur’s movement, Francis sat to his right, and Matthew sat to his left. “I know that Alfred faints due to his anemia, but I think that there is something more to it. I can’t put my finger on it.”</p><p>Arthur plopped his elbows up on his knees and rested his chin on his hands, putting on his suspicious thinking face.</p><p>“Anemia? Is that what Alfred told you?” His response being met with Arthur’s nod, Francis shot a concerned knowing glance at Matthew, who responded with knitted brows and thinning lips. “Should I?” Francis mouthed to Matthew.</p><p>Matthew nodded an approval.</p><p>“…Arthur, don’t think that you are overthinking things.” Francis said, patting Arthur’s arm. “There are some things about Alfred that he, or one of us, should’ve told you when you joined the band.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Decided to take the 4-day weekend off, so here's a late update!<br/>There's still some things I need to add in previous chapters for clarification, so there might be sudden abrupt fact or piece of information thrown in during future chapters. This story is kinda diverging from what I originally outlined for the main plot, so there are going to be constant updates and changes made while I'm writing chapters.<br/>The next chapter is probably the chapter most people are waiting for, since it'll generally talk about Alfred's past and his "secret". Again, however, people who has seen Your Lie in April might have an idea on what's up with him.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Just Like Everyone Else</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The setting sun left the campus doused in darkening shadows, shadows only warded away by the hall’s ghostly lights. Without the warm rush of blood gushing through his veins, Arthur trembled, the tip of his nose and cheekbones turning a stinging red. Francis walked by his side, his indigo scarf and hair waving in the wind.</p><p>Only a few cars remained in the student parking lot, possibly those of junior and senior-year band students. Francis pulled out his jingling car keys and pressed the unlock button. From the far corner of the lot, his car’s white, orange, and red lights flashed on.</p><p>“Take a seat in the front.” Francis told Arthur, setting down his saxophone case and book bag on the seat.</p><p>Arthur placed his backpack and case on the front passenger seat’s floor, scooting them to make room for his feet. His breaths puffed out his mouth like white smoke.</p><p>“So, tell me everything.” Arthur said when Francis got into the driver’s seat. “What is with Alfred? I am not a doctor, but I have a gut feeling that anemia is not supposed to be that serious.”</p><p>“Arthur…” Francis’s voice trailed off as he paused. How could he tell his childhood friend without making him upset?</p><p>The tense silence irritated Arthur. “Spit it out already.” He demanded.</p><p>Lightly clenching his brows, Francis answered, “Arthur, Alfred doesn’t just have anemia. It is only a symptom. He has an illness. A rare yet potentially fatal one.”</p><p>The temperature dropped a few degrees. </p><p>Arthur’s stomach flip-flopped. “A potentially fatal illness? You must be kidding me. Alfred? That ill and still on the field playing his trumpet so loudly? How are you sure this is not a rumor?”</p><p>“If you don’t believe me, go ask Matthieu. I don’t know what that disease is called. Even Matthieu doesn’t know. All everyone else knows is Alfred has been battling this disease since he was a child. He has ‘beaten’ it multiple times, only for it to relapse again. Alfred has already passed his predicted life expectancy, but for how much longer? No one knows.” </p><p>“Everyone else knows?” A familiar tang of anger welled in Arthur’s chest, its burning fury spreading like wildfire. “Why the bloody hell did no one tell me this? Why didn’t <em>you</em> tell me?”</p><p>“Arthur, I...” Francis just could not get a believable lie off his unmoving, stale tongue, chest aching to share the truth he was scared to admit. “...Desole. We just don’t like bringing it up to people. It’s for the best. It’s to save face for ourselves, yourself, and Alfred.”</p><p>“Yes, saving face for all of you at my expense.” Arthur said in a mocking tone, sarcasm dripping with cynicism. “I’m starting to suspect that you wanted to convince me to join this blasted band just so the band can push their problems regarding Alfred into my hands.”</p><p>Francis widened his eyes before narrowing them in offense. “Arthur! That isn’t true!”</p><p>“It makes sense now. None of you want to be responsible for Alfred, that bloody obnoxious git who no one likes. “Arthur accused, pulling the door handle and shoving the door open, his sweltering fury shielding him from the coldness flowing into the car as he stepped outside. “You all just needed someone to take care of him for you. And, ironically, I just had to fall in love with him!”</p><p>Just as Arthur picked up his trumpet, Francis grabbed onto the case to halt his childhood friend. “Why are you accusing me? I asked because you are mon ami! I thought that maybe you’ll start to enjoy playing your trumpet again, and you’ll be interested!”</p><p>“Oh, let go you fucking frog!” Arthur jerked his instrument case out of Francis’s grasp with a scowl, turning to stomp towards his car. “Maybe the band was looking for a new first trumpet since that damn Alfred will drop dead one day, rather than training someone in the section to be one!”</p><p>Francis got out of his seat. “Mr. Edelstein is the one who picks who to be first trumpet! The whole band has nothing to his decision!” He shouted; fuming voice carried by the wind.</p><p>“And you were the one who told him about me!” Arthur countered back, exclamation echoing down the lot. “I fucking thought that I was finally doing something for myself, enjoying it because I enjoyed it! Instead, it’s all a bloody damn lie! I’ve been doing it for this entire, yellow-bellied band!”</p><hr/><p>A mixture of emotions whirled inside Arthur as he sped back home. Alfred, <em>his Alfred</em>, the first band member eager to win Arthur’s friendship and love, the one who helped him rediscover the joy of music, and his first love, had a persistent disease. If something happened to Alfred, how would Arthur be able to take care of himself? How would he ever enjoy music again? How would he be happy with his life?</p><p>With every last-second break at stop signs, crosswalks, and red lights, the anxiety originating in the unknown boiled into wrath. Alfred would not last long. The precious relationship would not last long. Nothing good ever lasted long for Arthur, just like his reputation as a music prodigy.  How dare Matthew, Gilbert, and Francis, <em>especially Francis</em>, brushed away the issue, too cowardly to face and deal with the facts with themselves. How dare the band conspire to use Arthur as the sacrificial black sheep to hand him their problems.</p><p>And how dare Alfred, the one who Arthur put all his trust and affection into, hide his sickness from him.</p><p>Arthur pulled up on his house’s driveway, jerking the gear shiftier and stomping on the parking brake.</p><p>“Bloody fucking hell.” He grumbled under his breath, tossing his seatbelt over his shoulder, shoving the door open. Bookbag on his slouched figure, instrument case clutched in his left white-knuckled fist, and house keys clinking in within his right, he stamped up the driveway. </p><p>Arthur stabbed the front door keyhole with his key. Before he twisted the key like pulling a doll’s head off, his phone chimed from his coat’s pocket. “What now?” He hissed through grinding teeth.</p><p><em>“hey babe! im ok! did i miss anything from practice?” </em>Alfred’s message read. </p><p>If Arthur could shoot heat rays from his eyes, his phone would be smoking scrap metal. He tapped the phone symbol below Alfred’s name, scowling at the dial ringing in his ears. </p><p>“Hey, Artie! Why are you calling?” Alfred’s carefree tone carried the image of a stupid smile Arthur wanted to rip into pieces. “What’s up, babe?”</p><p>Arthur clenched his phone. “Alfred! What the bloody hell!” </p><p>“Wha? Artie? What’s wrong?”</p><p>“What’s wrong? Everything is fucking wrong! Fainting and playing it off as just anemia, lying that everything is just fine and dandy!”</p><p>“Yeah, and I’m all right now, babe!”</p><p>“Don’t, ‘I’m all right now, babe’ me! I know everything now. You have a rare childhood illness, and you can drop dead any minute!”</p><p>“Wha—!” </p><p>“Tell me, is this true? Or is it just a silly rumor that bloody frog Francis and the band made up?</p><p>Deep inside, Arthur hoped Alfred would answer no.</p><p>“Artie.” Alfred gulped. “Babe, it’s true.” he admitted, voice quivering.</p><p>Alfred disappointed Arthur once again.</p><p>“I hate you.” Arthur spat out. “I loathe you. Loathe you for lying. Loathe you for being the person I fell for!”</p><p>“Yeah? So?” Alfred’s voice rose. “It’s not my fault that you fell for me!”</p><p>“You tricked me! Tricked me with your friendliness and care!” Arthur accused. “I finally figured out why you’re the most despised person in the band! No one enjoys your company because you are a bloody annoying wanker! Most of all, no one can trust you! I understand why everyone stayed away from you!”</p><p>“Hey.” Alfred said in a firm voice. “You weren’t the most popular kid when you came into the band. There’s a reason why I told you that you have a stick up your ass.”</p><p>Arthur could not stop himself from spitting out burning retorts. “At least I didn’t manipulate a mere lonely and friendless new band kid, and trick him into loving someone! I bet that you were going to use your illness to trap me in this failure of a relationship!”</p><p>“So, are you saying that you wouldn’t like me if I just went up and be like, ‘Hey Artie, I have a sickness that can kill me’?” Alfred questioned bluntly. “Even if I told you the truth from the start?”</p><p>“Not one bit. And even if I did, I wouldn’t waste my time dating you.”</p><p>Behind Arthur’s red face, crinkled brows, and narrowing eyes, regret tossed and turned in his stomach. The anger burning within him turned into a chill stinging his chest and pulsing in his palms.</p><p>Yet, Arthur continued his rampaging wrath. “I’m breaking up with you. I don’t want to waste any more time with you.”</p><p>The other end went silent. Arthur’s heart panged with guilt, as a list of apologies ran through Arthur’s mind. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I still care for you. I’m scared. I’m just angry at you. I felt hurt because you hid everything from me. Yet, Arthur’s bruised yet stiff pride locked his jaw shut.</p><p>Alfred finally spoke, “...Fine. This is fine.” His voice quivered in a mixture of anger, disappointment, and despair. “I’m fucking fine with this, babe—I mean dude. You’re just like everyone else. Fucking everyone else.</p><p>“And I don’t want to be with someone who is like everyone else.” Alfred concluded in the coldest tone he mustered, contrary to the cheery bubbly persona he usually presented.</p><p>The dial tone beeped three times before silencing.</p><hr/><p>“Someone looks pretty pissed off.”</p><p>Arthur shot a miffed glare across the dining table. Allistor grinned back before bringing his cup of tea to his lips.</p><p>“Bugger off, Allistor.” Arthur snapped, splitting his fried fish in half with his fork.</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland frowned. “Language, boys! Arthur, dear? What is wrong? You seem infuriated at something.”</p><p>“Seem? Oh no, I’m not infuriated. I’m absolutely overjoyed.” Arthur responded sarcastically.</p><p>Papers rustled as Mr. Kirkland flopped his newspaper down onto his lap with a stern look. “Arthur? Don’t respond to your mother like that.”</p><p>“Someone likely got into his first wee fight with his boyfriend.” Allistor teased.</p><p>“As a matter of fact, I did.” Arthur bluntly answered. “We got into our first and only argument.”</p><p>“First and only, huh? You’re sure you and your boyfriend would not get into another disagreement?” Allistor continued to taunt.</p><p>“Yes. How could we get into another couple’s argument if we broke up?”</p><p>“Broke up?” Not expecting Arthur’s firm answer, Allistor’s smirk fell.</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland knitted her brows. “Poppet, what happened between you and Alfred? Is there anything we can do to help?” </p><p>Arthur directed his glower towards his plate, still filled with cold fish and chips. At her youngest son’s silent response, Mrs. Kirkland gave a worried glance at her husband, who returned a raised brow, a slight hint of worry appearing in his look.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Originally, I wanted to reveal the name Alfred's illness in this chapter, but due to fear that I wouldn't get the symptoms and stages right, I decided to leave it up to people's speculations just like in YLiA. There's probably more questions than answers coming from this short chapter, but I'm saving the answers and explanations for why Arthur and Alfred acted the way they did for the next chapter, as I felt that it's better for the story's flow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Meaningful Relationship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur lied in his bed, gaping at the angular shadows cast by the partially-closed window blinds and the streetlights on the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, yet the light within the deep reaches of his consciousness and the pit in his stomach, rivaling the emptiness in his heart in depth, kept him awake.</p>
<p><em>“Everything was going so well.” </em>The sheets shifted with Arthur’s turn onto his right side. Fluttering his dim eyes open, Arthur grasped his blanket lightly. <em>“I found someone special. I actually started to love music again. Then this had to happen. I should’ve ignored the problem, but why did I have to be so curious and nosy? I only set myself up for failure in everything.”</em></p>
<p>The alarm clock’s glowing lime-green numbers read 1:06 am. Sighing, Arthur embraced his bedcovers, which crumpled under his light grasp. Like if he cuddled another person’s body—Alfred to be specific—he buried his face into the mound.</p>
<p>“Blasted hormones.” Arthur muttered. “Bloody thoughts.”</p>
<p>The bed creaked as Arthur rose to a sitting position, hugging his knees to his chest. Arthur’s half-lidded eyes drifted to his trumpet case set next to his desk’s chair, its figure only distinguishable by its pitch-black shape. About two months ago, Arthur stood up in the stands with pride, rallying his fellow band classmates with Alfred, focused on the adventure happening in front of him, not obsessed with petty music details. Now, the case represented two of Arthur’s biggest failures: his failure of being a music prodigy and the failure of his experiencing in band.</p>
<p>How exactly did five-year-old Arthur Kirkland find and retain his joy in music? How did he remain so hopeful, untarnished by life’s qualms? The only method to achieve that state of enjoyment was to retain a child’s innocence and hope, a treasure tragically lost by experiences endured through growing up.</p>
<p>The clock read 1:28 am. Grumbling in defeat, Arthur threw his blankets aside. He slipped his feet into his Mint Bunny slippers and wiggled his toes into its cushiony surface.</p>
<p>Down the shadowy hallways and the stairs, Arthur trailed the electric blue nightlights to the kitchen. With the tap of a switch, the pitch-black kitchen flooded with light like if the room awoke. Arthur filled a pot with water and set it on the stove top, opening a cabinet for a teabag as the water boiled underneath the bluish flame.</p>
<p>When the boiling water bubbled and rattled in the pot, Arthur turned off the stove’s flames, poured the water into a mug, and dipped the teabag into the steaming hot liquid, pulling it in and out as the water transitioned into a light yellow-brown color.</p>
<p>“You’re not in bed?”</p>
<p>Arthur jumped, nearly spilling tea onto the counter. Disheveled-haired, blurry-eyed Mr. Kirkland stood in the walkway, giving his youngest son a strange look. Despite being worn by his demanding office job, George Kirkland remained a light-sleeper.</p>
<p>“I expected to see Allistor, not you. You hardly go to the kitchen for a midnight snack.” Mr. Kirkland dryly remarked.</p>
<p>“Yes, because my troubles hardly keep me up at night.” Arthur grumbled, taking the pot off the stove to set in the sink. “No one falls asleep as quick as you.”</p>
<p>“Because I’m not upset over ending a relationship.” The bluntness in Mr. Kirkland’s response struck like lightning.</p>
<p>Narrowing his eyes into a glare, Arthur frowned. “Yes, I know. You’re probably happy about it, aren’t you?” He asked, gathering his cup to head to the dining table. “You never approved of our relationship.”</p>
<p>“Not as much as how I am disapproving of how you’re acting at this moment.”</p>
<p>Arthur snapped, “Why are you saying such things like this?”</p>
<p>“Because you’re acting like an absolute child!”</p>
<p>“That is because you’re treating me like one!” Arthur’s rising voice bounced on the kitchen and dining room’s walls before leaping into the living room. Freezing, Arthur and his father glimpsed towards the stairs’ direction. Given silence’s response, Arthur faced his father with an irritated expression and demanded, “Stay out of my business.”</p>
<p>The microwave’s digitcal clock read 1:53 A. Mr. Kirkland glimpsed at the time, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed, “Suit yourself, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Breaking eye-contact, Arthur sat down at the coffee table, not caring about the droplets of tea splashing out his cup onto its wooden surface. He grimaced at the steam emitting from his cup, in no mood to blow into the hot liquid.</p>
<p>Water spewed out the kitchen faucet, flowing into the pot as Mr. Kirkland squeezed green liquid soap onto a kitchen sponge. Bubbly soap suds coated the pot’s silver surface with each scour. Over the scrubbing and sloshing, Mr. Kirkland remarked, “It’s a pity. I’ve never you so happy with…What’s his name again?”</p>
<p>“Alfred. It’s Alfred.” Arthur cringed at the name, heart throbbing in yearning, guilt, and resentment. “Everyone probably says so. Francis said it to me.”</p>
<p>“Right, Alfred.” Mr. Kirkland replied to his son, setting the pot onto the drying rack. The plates and cups clattered underneath the pot.</p>
<p>Arthur looked at his father and rose a curious brow. <em>“Is it just me, or did his voice sound not as harsh as before? No. Must be my imagination.”</em></p>
<p>“Everyone probably says so. Francis said it to me. And, it’s over now.”</p>
<p>“Again, such pity.” Mr. Kirkland added. “It must’ve been meaningful.”</p>
<p>“Meaningful?” Arthur arched his brows, his stare trailing his father who left the kitchen area, stopping in front of the table opposite of him.</p>
<p>“Remember the game when your school beat their rivals? The second game we went to? You and Alfred must’ve made these moments special.”</p>
<p>“That’s because our team won. Alfred had no contribution to our school’s victory.” Arthur insisted, pushing away the joyful memories from the thrilling game.</p>
<p>Pulling up a chair, Mr. Kirkland sat across from his son. “You are right. The entire band could cheer as much as they want, and yet the team might have still lost. However, you must admit that the game became much enjoyable when you and Alfred rallied everyone, am I wrong?”</p>
<p>“…No, you’re not. You’re correct” Arthur admitted, clutching his fists lightly. “And with that spirit and joy, we would still enjoy each other’s company, even if our team lost. But it no longer matters. That relationship is no longer meaningful.”</p>
<p>“Because it ended.”</p>
<p>“No. It ended when it started.” Arthur said firmly. “Dad, even if Alfred and I remained together, it wouldn’t last long.”</p>
<p>“Because it is young love?”</p>
<p>“No, it is because Alfred is sickly!” Arthur blurted out. Shame welled in his chest from exposing his vulnerability to his father, making his face turn red. Yet, the shame was lighter than the burden clinging into his heart. “Dad, if you never married Mum and you found out she had a terminal illness, would you stay with her? That’s me with Alfred. Only that damn wanker had the audacity to hide and lie about it like the rest of these band gits!”</p>
<p>“So, that is what happened between you two. I knew there was something off with that bloke.” Mr. Kirkland commented. Arthur bit his cheeks to halt a smile. You detest Dad. Don’t smile at his words!</p>
<p>“At that point of time, if I love your mother dearly, which I still do to this day, I would stay with her until the very end. It is what love is about, sticking with your partner until the end.</p>
<p>“Don’t people get together because it makes them happy?”</p>
<p>“Love is not like these ridiculous Hollywood movies. You can’t just rely on your partner to make you happy all the time. Both of you need to help each other through difficult times. And judging from what Alfred is going through, he probably needs, or needed, something like you to support him.”</p>
<p>“That git still lied to me. He hid illness as if he was never going to drop dead from it. I see why the band avoids him like the plaque.”</p>
<p>“What Alfred did is wrong. He shouldn’t have lied to you. However, think about Alfred’s perspective.” Mr. Kirkland began. “Illness, especially terminal ones, make people scared. They don’t want to see someone they love suffer. Diseases also reminds them of their own mortality. Perhaps Alfred is trying to rekindle his relationships with your band mates, who just haven’t found the courage to return the favor. Hence, he uses his denial to evade his own loneliness.”</p>
<p>Arthur softened his hardened grimace. <em>“Lonely. Just like me.”</em></p>
<p>Mr. Kirkland continued, “You were probably the first companion he had in years. Knowing you, you must’ve been irritated by him at first. However, you let him into your heart and accepted him. And Alfred did the same. It’s a relationship formed by reciprocation. If there is something special between you two, both of you will be willing to admit your mistakes and reconcile.”</p>
<p>Arthur gave a funny look. “Are you asking me to get back together with him?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps, perhaps not.” The older Englishman answered. “I can’t force you to. However, what I’d like you to do is reconcile with him, just to show respect and sympathy.”</p>
<p>“Why are you telling me this?” Arthur questioned, feeling his cup of tea’s lukewarm surface. “I thought you wanted me to be perfect, and I also thought that my relationship with Alfred went against your standards.”</p>
<p>“To teach you how to become a fine gentleman. You’re approaching that age when you become your own person, and I can no longer deny it.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Arthur did not return to bed until 2:30. Within the covers, he spent another thirty minutes wide-awake considering his options. Fueled by anticipation, he stared at his phone, its screen at its lowest brightness setting still burning his alert eyes. Did he want to fix things between him and Alfred because he truly loved and cared for him, or was it because he felt guilty?</p>
<p><em>“hey babe! im ok! did i miss anything from practice?” </em>Arthur scanned Alfred’s last message to him over and over again. So carefree, so friendly, and so innocent. What was the possibility that Alfred would respond to his message with the same tone, assuming that he <em>was willing </em>to reply? What if Alfred blocked him, leaving the confrontation available in the school halls?</p>
<p>After scanning Alfred’s message for the tenth time, Arthur told himself, <em>“I can’t hesitate like a coward. I will figure out if our love was authentic later. What matters the most is speaking out to him.”</em></p>
<p>The digital keyboard clicked under Arthur’s fingers. <em>“Alfred, I must speak to you tomorrow. In person. This is something that I can’t explain over text. If you care enough to say yes, I will greatly appreciate it.” </em></p>
<p>The screen went black as soon as Arthur hit send. Heart throbbing wildly and nerves buzzing in agitation, Arthur pulled the bedcovers over himself, curling into a ball and shutting his eyes to wait for his body to submit to sleep’s mercy.</p>
<p>Pure darkness and anticipation fluttering in his stomach greeted Arthur as he roused himself from sleep. Stretching his aching muscles and cracking his stiff joints, he wondered, “How late it is today?”</p>
<p>Arthur reached for his phone. At the sight of the screen, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest, not at the time that read 10:48 am, but a certain message sent from a certain blond.</p>
<p><em>“sure” </em>Alfred’s response, sent at 9:37 am, read.</p>
<p>Sure. That was all it said. No implications on apathy, anger, or joy. Fear rose in Arthur, out of distaste on how helpless he felt and how foolish he felt for not being able to determine anything.</p>
<p>However, a response was a response. Better than nothing.</p>
<p>Arthur messaged back, <em>“I’ll let you know when I’m coming over.”</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Arthur halted in front of Alfred’s home. Rolling his hands into fists within his coat’s pockets, Arthur eyed the doorbell and sighed, his breath emitting out his mouth like smoke from a dragon’s mouth. The worn welcome mat carried no sincerity behind its letters, and the window blinds were drawn, encasing the house from the outside world.</p>
<p><em>“Should I still be doing this? What if he’s angry at me? No, face your fears, Arthur!” </em>Arthur’s unsure look hardened into a determined look. <em>“You’ve dealt with your angry father, your angry brothers, and fierce competition before! Don’t be afraid of an angry ex!”</em></p>
<p>Retaining his firm look, Arthur rang the doorbell, retracting his hand back into his pocket’s safety at the chime rung behind the walls and doors. He tapped the tip of his shoes as he waited for the door to open.</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>Arthur tapped his shoes faster. <em>“Perhaps he is busy.”</em></p>
<p>Minutes passed, and only silence responded to Arthur. Furrowing his brows, he rung the doorbell again.</p>
<p>This time, following a few moments, the door opened.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Alfred greeted with a blank tone, slanting his mouth to his left. Dark spots hung underneath his half-lidded blue orbs.</p>
<p>Arthur crossed his arms, right index finger scratching his coat’s surface. “Hey.”</p>
<p>“So, what’s up? What do you want?” Alfred set his hand across on the door.</p>
<p>“…It’s about yesterday’s incident.” Arthur started.</p>
<p>Alfred frowned, further narrowing his eyes in misgiving. “Oh, so you’re here just to say sorry, huh? Well, I accept it, I guess.”</p>
<p>Arthur rolled his eyes at Alfred’s scorn. “Oh, how forgiving. You’re an absolute wanker for hiding your illness for me.”</p>
<p>“And you’re an ass for yelling at me over the phone.” Alfred countered.</p>
<p>“Don’t you know how much you hurt your bloody boyfriend by hiding everything from him?”</p>
<p>Alfred set his hand on his hip, leering down on the shorter blond. “First off, it’s not boyfriend. It’s ex-boyfriend. Second, ever since I got diagnosed with this stupid illness, I was known as the ‘sick kid’. Don’t you know how it’s like to have people whisper behind their back and point and say, ‘That’s Alfred. He’s sick. He’s gonna die before all of us.’ Don’t you know how it’s like to have everyone you thought were your friends turn their backs at you? Don’t you know how it’s like to wonder if it’s better to be born as another kid for your parents, a kid that will actually live like one? I’m never going to be normal and experience what normal people like you will get, so might as well distract myself with a damn illusion and enjoy that!”</p>
<p>Arthur stared, hiding the pain twanging in his chest, unable to get a single response out.</p>
<p>Angry expression falling, Alfred continued in a sadder voice, “I’m lonely, Artie. And I’m scared. Not death. Death isn’t scary. Having a completely bad and miserable life is. When I saw you, I wanted to show that you’re not alone just like me. And it ended up with me falling for you. You were probably my only shot at love. I just want to know what it’s like to love and give love in return.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Alfred… Well, you can consider me not normal as well. Child prodigy who disappointed his family and destroyed his reputation. That what most people see me as. I let you into my world because you made me find enjoyment in music again and made me feel happy for once. Perhaps you can say I was using you as a hunch as well. The reason I got angry at you was because I think was scared that I was going to lose control of everything that made me happy, which is you. You understand that?”</p>
<p>Alfred relaxed his stiff posture. “Yeah, I get that. I guess I hid everything from you because I didn’t want you to run away from me.”</p>
<p>Arthur gave a small yet natural smile. “You have your needs, and I have mines. Just remember that just because you’re sick doesn’t mean you are entitled to everyone else to be happy.”</p>
<p>“And just because you’re a stick-in-the-ass doesn’t mean you need your ex to be happy in band.”</p>
<p>“Touché.” Arthur rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>Alfred stepped out the door. “Actually, I mean to say boyfriend, not ex.”</p>
<p>“Boyfriend?”</p>
<p>Alfred held his hands open. “If you want to.”</p>
<p>Who could resist the honesty reflected in Alfred’s eyes? Stepping towards Alfred, Arthur hesitated, holding his breath as he wrapped his arms around Alfred’s larger frame. As Alfred returned the embrace, Arthur tightened his grasp, burying his face into Alfred and soaking up his warmth.</p>
<p>“We’re starting this again?” Alfred asked again to confirm.</p>
<p>“Yes. And I won’t run away from any problems again.” Arthur promised.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Annnnd, we're back with this story!<br/>Fun Fact: Mrs. Kirkland was originally going to speak to Arthur, but I changed it to Mr. Kirkland since a few of the other characters have some relationship with their fathers. <br/>OT: Here, It seems like Arthur's dad is trying to make Arthur get back together with Alfred just because he thinks Arthur still should remain with Alfred for the relationship's sake. However, he's actually trying to use this experience to emphasize staying devoted to someone or something despite tough times, a lesson inspired by how Arthur quit music after failing his first competition, which made him believe his efforts were a waste of time. </p>
<p>When I went back to edit, I was pretty shocked to see all the darn typos and spelling errors. I knew that I typed this on my phone, but I didn't see all the mistakes until rereading it lol.</p>
<p>I'll do my best to update as much as possible, though I'm not sure if I'll be able to do so weekly like before. Everything is slowly opening up where I live, and I'm now doing my job in-person instead of spending all of it behind a screen. In addition, I'm probably approaching a block with this story. While I generally have an outline on what's going to happen, the story's parade is something that was completely added at the last minute. Since it's kinda described as a huge event, I'm not sure if I should gloss over it or actually focus on it with a chapter or two. If I got with the latter choice (which is probably what I'll do.), it might take some time to think up what to write about, since it wasn't included in my outline.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Rekindling Changes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“How can I face Arthur now?” </em>
</p><p>Slamming the car door behind him, Francis scrolled down the student parking lot with a frown, taking a step onto the curb. He kept his deadpan gaze forward, passing by the dance team members gossiping in front of the lockers and some girls entering a classroom.</p><p>
  <em>“How can I face Alfred or Matthew? Or the band?” </em>
</p><p>The combination lock unlocked with a tiny snap, followed by the locker squeaking open. Francis set aside his Physics textbook, before taking a few moments to blankly stare at his French book, title, Eifel Tower, grade level, and all.</p><p><em>“The secret is now out. I can’t take it back.” </em>French book in hand, Francis pushed the locker shut, turning around to head to his first class.</p><p>“Bonjour, <em>frog.” </em></p><p>Francis halted at the familiar voice. With an accent that <em>horrible </em>and <em>exaggerated</em>, he already knew that Arthur was behind him.</p><p><em>“He must be still upset with me. Well, I can’t avoid him now.” </em>Francis presumed, before turning to face Arthur, mustering the worst English accent in his response.</p><p>“Well, good day—Arthur?” Voice trailing off, Francis gave a funny look at Arthur and Alfred, who returned the strange expression. The pair stood side-by-side next to each other, gaze absent of any bitter antagonism.</p><p>“Yes, what’s wrong?” Arthur asked, rising a brow.</p><p>“Dude, we just wanted to say hi.” Alfred responded.</p><p>Francis stared back at the pair, seeking for any signs of hostility hidden by their outward expressions, and gave an awkward smile. “Oh, nothing, mes amis. How are you two doing?”</p><p>Arthur replied, “Good, good. And you?”</p><p>“Good as well.”</p><p><em>Beep! </em>The electronic bell broke the growing tense silence between the three. Herds of students wove around them, piling into classrooms.</p><p>Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur. “My class is right there.” He said, pointing to the classroom at the end of the hall. “See you during passing, babe.”</p><p>Arthur returned the embrace. “Talk to you later.”</p><p>“See you around at lunch, Francis.” Alfred said, giving a Francis a bump on the shoulder.</p><p>“Oui, see you.” Francis responded, as Alfred trekked towards his first class, growing smaller into the distance and vanishing into the crowd. “Arthur? Is everything good?”</p><p>“Yes, it’s fine and dandy.” Arthur answered, turning to leave for class. “By the way, thanks for telling me everything.”</p><p>“Oh.” Stunned, Francis stared at Arthur, watching the latter enter his AP Chemistry class. “Oui, no problem.”</p><p>Seated at their desks, Francis’s French 3 classmates chatted with each other as Francis entered the classroom, passing his Parisian teacher at her desk taking attendance, smudged whiteboard, and posterboards. He went down the rows of occupied desks towards his seat at the back next to Matthew, who took out his notebook and textbook.</p><p>“Bonjour.” Francis greeted, the blue plastic chair creaking under his weight as his bookbag clumped at the foot of the desk.</p><p>“Bonjour.” Matthew gave a soft smile. “Ca va?”</p><p>“Comme ci, comme ca.” Francis answered with a shrug, earning Matthew’s knitted brows. “I have something to ask.”</p><p>“Yeah? What is it?”</p><p>“Do you know if Arthur is still with Alfred?”</p><p>“I know that you told me that Arthur got really mad when you told him about Alfred. But Alfred didn’t tell me anything about a fight or break-up.”</p><p>“I see…” Francis stroked his chin stubble.</p><p>“Do you think something happened between them?”</p><p>“Logically, I think so. But whatever happened, the two are still together. I don’t mind if Arthur is still with Alfred. What I’m worried about is the two forcing to stay together…out of other reasons.” Francis furrowed his brows at the last sentence.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Matthew asked for an explanation.</p><p>“Out of obligation and pressure.” Francis clarified. “If it’s something they are willing to do, then tres bien. But it is difficult to tell if this is out of love or loneliness. You saw how both of them were like at the start, non?”</p><p>“I get what you’re talking about.” Matthew said, resting his chin on his book. “If they remained together just to still be in a relationship, that doesn’t sound good. But,” Matthew gave a smile. “I have a good feeling about this.”</p><p>“Oui? Really? How so?”</p><p>Matthew shrugged. “Don’t know. Just a gut feeling.”</p><hr/><p>“Be back in five minutes!” Roderich announced, tweeting into his whistle. The block of band students dissolved, each going to their separate ways. Some flocked to the crates of water bottles set on the sidelines, while others gathered into their own groups.</p><p>“Are you doing fine, Alfred?” Arthur asked as they both stepped onto the sidewalk, disregarding the other trumpets gathering underneath a tree overhanging the fences. “Feeling lightheaded?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m doing fine!” Alfred answered with a grin. “I’m full of energy like always!”</p><p>Arthur returned an unsure frown. “Do you mean it? Don’t try to fool me. Here, let’s take a seat.”</p><p>From a few feet away, Roderich watched the blond couple sit on the curb while waiting for his father, who spoke with Ludwig regarding running for drum major. As Arthur gently supported Alfred down into his seat, despite Alfred’s laugh and response that he was not fragile and delicate, the Austrian drum major furrowed his brows.</p><p>If <em>anything</em> happened to Alfred, <em>Arthur</em> would be the sole first trumpet.</p><p>“Vati?” Roderich spoke up to Mr. Edelstein as Ludwig turned and left for his section.</p><p>“Yes, what is it?” </p><p>Hiding his mouth with one hand, Roderich whispered into his father’s ear, attentive violet eyes darting to Alfred and Arthur.</p><p>Mr. Edelstein nodded. “Ja, danke for reminding me. I’ll speak with them now.”</p><p>Sensing an entering prescience, Alfred and Arthur looked up at Mr. Edelstein’s approaching figure, his trademark footsteps eerily calm and silent.</p><p>“Oh. Um, hello Mr. Edelstein.” Arthur started, gaze frozen into stare. </p><p>“Hello, you two. May I speak to you now?”</p><p>“Yeah sure. What’s up?” Alfred asked, posture relaxed.</p><p>Mr. Edelstein began, “First, both of you are tremendous trumpet players. I am glad to have both of you participate in the parade, especially you Alfred. Recently I’ve been considering having Mathias and Jett transition to first trumpet.”</p><p>“Mathias and Jett?” Arthur took a looked at the two trumpeters in question, who chortled at a silly joke with the rest of their rowdy section. “Starting with this parade?”</p><p>“Precisely. It’s time for them to step up. I’d like you two to guide them for the next few days, help them become familiar with the first trumpet parts.”</p><p>“Sure thing! We’ll help them!” Alfred responded with a thumbs up.</p><p>Mr. Edelstein left and headed towards the rest of the trumpet section, their ruckuses silenced and mischievous grins falling as he approached. Upon the band director’s request to speak to them, Mathias and Jett’s faces paled. What did they do wrong? Was it an inappropriate joke? Did they goof off one too many? In silence, Mathias and Jett followed Mr. Edelstein to the secluded street corner, the rest of trumpeters watching in morbid curiosity, hissing guesses on what Mr. Edelstein was going to scold the two sophomore section mates for this time. </p><p>At Mr. Edelstein announced their transition from second to first trumpet, delighted, white grins beamed on Mathias and Jett’s faces. Though, the excited smiles shrunk at the mention that Arthur and Alfred would be helping them. As they parted ways with Mr. Edelstein and returned to their section with the news, Mathias and Jett shot a frown towards Arthur and Alfred’s direction.</p><p>Arthur grimaced. <em>“Working with them will be potentially difficult.” </em></p><hr/><p>“I am unsure how this is going to go.” Arthur said to Alfred, as he shoved his lunch box into his book bag.</p><p>“I’m sure it’ll be fine, babe.” Alfred replied with a carefree smile, setting his mouthpiece into his trumpet. “They’re part of our section.”</p><p>“Still, would they even listen to us, particularly me?” Arthur asked, opening his instrument case. “You know that I’m not the most likeable person in our section.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll make you likeable to them, and I’ll make them listen to you! How’s that?”</p><p>Just as Arthur and Alfred exchanged valve oil, the band room’s doors swung open. Mathias and Jett entered, instruments in hand and expressions blank. “Hey.”</p><p>“Hey.” Awkward silence stood between the four trumpets. Catching the sophomores’ ears darting towards each other, Arthur crossed his arms and frowned.</p><p>“So…” Alfred spoke up with a grin, trying to ease the mood. “You guys here to start practicing?”</p><p>For the twenty-minute remainder of lunch, the four practiced segments of the parade songs, with Arthur’s blares shadowing Alfred, Mathias and Jett’s, as expected from his greater talent, experience, and skill. </p><p><em>“No wonder why Mathias and Jett weren’t picked for first before then.” </em>Arthur thought in between intervals, taking a glance out from his music sheet to the sophomores. <em>“But Alfred still sounds a tad similar to their playing. I wonder how he got selected in the first place.”</em></p><hr/><p>With two weeks remaining until the parade, Wednesday concert band practices were temporarily committed towards marching practice for the parade. Arthur and Alfred stood in their row in the block, speaking to each other as they waited for the practice to start.</p><p>In the sidelines, Roderich strolled up the block, trailed by Mathias and Jett. He approached a clarinet player and flute player to Arthur’s right, giving an order and pointing up the block. After looking down the direction, the clarinetist and flutist nodded before towards the direction, having Mathias and Jett take their place.</p><p>“Oh, hey.” Mathias said, taking the spot next to Arthur.</p><p>“Hello there.” Arthur replied. “Why are you two here now?”</p><p>“Got switched. Mr. Edelstein wanted to see if the whole composition is better with us being next to you guys or something like that. So, we might or might not be stuck with you guys.”</p><p>“Oh, interesting…” Arthur could only mutter, hiding his distaste towards Mathias’s last sentence. </p><p>
  <em>“They really don’t want to be next to us.”</em>
</p><p>Down the streets the band marched, making a round before stopping in front of the school for a break. Mr. Edelstein, over the exhausted pants and a few people’s mummers, announced what the band needed to improve. </p><p>“Trumpets! You were a bit sharp. Take this break to tune quickly!” He ordered.</p><p>Arthur nodded, while Alfred gave a thumbs up, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. With Mr. Edelstein’s whistle, the two gathered with the trumpets in a circle at the section’s usual spot, underneath the tree at the end of the corner. </p><p>As the trumpets held a B flat, Arthur held a tuner app in front of his horn, adjusting his lips to hit the perfect stop. Once in tune, he went around the other trumpets, showing the app and giving a thumbs up once the trumpeter adjusted their tuning slides and lips properly.</p><p>“Everything should sound perfect now.” Arthur mentioned before the trumpet section headed back to the block at the end of break. The herd of trumpets shrunk, each member entering each passing row to go to their spot. </p><p>Arthur, Alfred, Mathias, and Jett went into the middle room, getting into their according position. As he stood at attention, Arthur heard Mathias ask Jett, “How are you coming along with these new parts?”</p><p>“Not too hot, Mathis my mate.” Jett admitted in a sad, frustrated tone. “You?”</p><p>Mathias replied, “Same. You know, I always wanted to be first trumpet, like it’ll be super cool. But at the same time, these parts are so high! My lips are tingling!”</p><p>“Same here, mate.” Jett licked his lips. “My chops are gonna be dead by the end of this week!”</p><p>Mathias sighed, “I just wish these parts aren’t so hard!”</p><p>“What do you expect from being first trumpet?” Arthur spoke up in a blunt tone, grabbing the two sophomore’s attention. “It will take lots of hard work. If you two work hard, both of you will surely make it.”</p><p>“Yeah, what Arthur said!” Alfred piped up. “You guys are cool dudes, so I’ll know you guys will be great first trumpets in no time!”</p><p>“Really?” Mathias gave a doubtful look.</p><p>Alfred nodded with confidence. “Really.”</p><p>Looking at each other, Mathias and Jett did not say a word, giving one last blank glimpse at Arthur and Alfred before going into a conversation by themselves. Arthur furrowed his brows and huffed.</p><p>“They really don’t get it, do they?” He commented.</p><p>“Nah, they did. Don’t worry ‘bout it, babe!” Alfred said.</p><p>Though, even though their lips hurt and they were exhausted, Mathias and Jett’s tone and notes remained as consistent as they could until the end of practice. </p><hr/><p>“How did practice go for you? Did Mathias and Jett listen to you?”</p><p>Schoolbag on his back, his trumpet packed in its case, and hand inches from the door knob, Arthur halted, gawking at Mr. Edelstein. “Oh, well… They still need improvement. At least they are listening to Alfred and me. How do we sound?”</p><p>Mr. Edelstein answered, “Much better. Placing them next to you and Alfred was a good choice. I appreciate you and Alfred.”</p><p>“Well, thank you. I… I can’t make Mathias and Jett as good as me, but I’ll be there for them. And if I can’t help them much, then they got Alfred.”</p><p>“Speaking of Alfred,” Arthur started, taking some steps forward to the band director. “Why did you pick Alfred as the sole first trumpet? He sounds a tad similar to Mathias and Jett, so why not all three of them?”</p><p>Mr. Edelstein began, “It was a difficult choice, not because all three of them were potentially ideal, but because neither of them matched my expectations. Mathias is sloppy with his tone, Jett is lazy and does not put in the work effort, and Alfred, well, you’ve seen how he diverges from the band’s music when you arrived. However, with these facts in mind, I picked Alfred. First, Alfred is a junior. Mathias and Jett are sophomores. They have two years remaining, and judging by their character, they are unlikely to quit the band for other matters.”</p><p>“That makes sense.”</p><p>“Most importantly, Alfred has passion for this class.” Mr. Edelstein continued, giving a slight smile. “The others may regard this characteristic as annoying, but I think we need more of Alfred’s spirit. Paying attention to details is important in perfecting a performance. But, enjoying the activity is important as well. Music can’t be good if the musicians do not enjoy their activity.”</p><p>“Yes, Alfred is quite useful in doing that. He made me enjoy music again, and I appreciate his character for that. If only I can bring joy like that, not get caught up in all these music details—not that I’m disregarding that as unimportant.” Arthur quickly mentioned. “Is there anything I can do to bring back that spirit for myself? To enjoy music as it is?”</p><p>“I think you already enjoy music for what it is.” Mr. Edelstein said.</p><p>Arthur gave a funny look. “No, no. If you are referring to that particular game, I just joined in with Alfred. Re-pumping up that energy to be more specific. Alfred did all the work.”</p><p>Mr. Edelstein responded, “And you reassured him when he needed it, without being driven by him or anything else. I believe that you already enjoy music. You’re just denying it and overthinking the situation, applying it to something else like a duty. Arthur, everything came from within. You’ll realize that you kept your passion when the time comes.”  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just trying to fight my writer's block. I was originally going to squeeze in the parade here, but felt it would be more appropriate for the next chapter. So, I just decided to use this chapter to pace out the story and show some of the minor characters' changes in their positions in the band, so it wouldn't go too fast. </p><p>Also, for this chapter, I learned that Austrians generally speak "Austrian German", which is a variant of Standard German, though both are mutually intelligible. Before, I assumed that Austria had a separate "Austrian" language, like how French is mostly spoken in France. The more ya know, I guess</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A Memory to Remember</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Bad parody covers of the song "The Wheels on the Bus" in the first half of this chapter. Prepare to get mildly irritated.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Given all the weekly practices, the Day of Music Parade arrived quicker than Arthur noticed. Before he knew it, he was tossing off his bed covers at eight in the morning on a Saturday, trudging towards the bathroom and rubbing the corners of his eyes. Although call time was not as early compared to band competitions, getting up early on a weekend was still getting up early.</p><p><em>“I am ready to perform for the Day of Music parade.” </em>Arthur sluggishly thought, pulling his green toothbrush out his mouth and spitting out the foamy, mint-flavored toothpaste. <em>“However, that does not mean I am ready to get up this early on a weekend.” </em></p><p>Dressed in his band T-shirt and workout shorts over black leggings, Arthur headed down the stairs, his music folder, trumpet, and water bottle resting safely in his backpack. As the number of steps lessened, sizzling sounds grew louder. A warm aroma flowed out from the kitchen.</p><p><em>“Guess Mum or Dad decided to get up early too.” </em>Arthur assumed, for he only mentioned the parade during dinner time once before.</p><p>At the stove, Mrs. Kirkland turned at her son’s quiet footsteps. “Good morning, poppet.” she greeted with a warm smile, her pale pink robe matching the pin holding up her sandy-blond hair.</p><p>“Good morning, Mum.” Arthur raised a brow at his mother’s cooking. “That’s a lot of eggs. Are you eating all of that?”</p><p>“No, silly.” Mrs. Kirkland laughed. “Half of these are for you! Since you are going to be in that today, I figured I might as well get up early to make you breakfast.”</p><p>“Mom, you didn’t need to. I’m perfectly fine with taking care of myself.”</p><p>“And I’m perfectly fine with taking care of you.” Mrs. Kirkland insisted, spooning out some scrambled eggs and placing it on a plate. Two toasts popped up on the toaster, each slightly burnt. With plates of food in her hand, Mrs. Kirkland headed to the table. “So, are you ready for the parade?” she asked, setting the dishes on the table and returning to the kitchen for the tea.</p><p>“Yes, I guess so.” Arthur said, glimpsing at the clock before stuffing eggs into his mouth.</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland returned with the tea, sitting down at the chair adjacent to Arthur’s. Arthur fixated his gaze on the plate, as his mother began, “Oh, the joys of being young, free of responsibilities and mundaneness. Sometimes I wish to go back and savor the moments I enjoyed when I was your age. This parade would definitely be one of your most memorable moments from the band, so don’t worry about anything else. If you focus on the moment, it will remain a fond memory when you look back at it.”</p><p>“Oh.” Arthur stared at his mother, having expected her to ramble about something ordinary, such as the rose bushes growing in their yard. </p><p>Mrs. Kirkland giggled at her son’s dazed stare. “Just have fun, poppet.”</p>
<hr/><p>Upon arriving at the band room, Arthur set his bag and trumpet by his section’s before heading into the uniform room to change. Passing the other band students and lockers, when he arrived at the trumpets’ lockers, Alfred, Mathias, and Jett were already there. Alfred took his medicine, while Mathias and Jett kept to themselves, not giving Alfred even a glimpse.</p><p>“Hey, Artie!” Alfred greeted through the pills in his mouth, taking a mouthful of water before setting his medicine bottle into his pocket. </p><p>“Artie?” Mathias looked at Jett, snickering grins forming on their faces as both of them faced Arthur, mischief gleaming in their gazes. “Hello Artie, the other first trumpet!”</p><p>Arthur frowned and crossed his arms. “Don’t call me that!” </p><p>“Why not?” Jett teased. “Alfred called ya that!” </p><p>Mathias and Jett laughed, collecting their uniform bags before jumping over the benches and exiting the uniform room.</p><p>Arthur raised a brow. “They seem to be friendly to me for once. Happy and excited, you can say.” He said, stepping into his bibbers and pulling its zipper up.</p><p>“Yeah, I think it’s because it’s the Day of Music.” Alfred answered, pulling up his bag’s zipper. “They are usually pretty excited during formal events. I mean, who isn’t?”</p><p>“Me?” Arthur suggested in a dry tone.</p><p>Alfred laughed. “Naw, babe! You have fun! Just not how other people do!”</p><p>“Well, I usually worry too much about music.” Arthur said, setting his uniform jacket into his uniform bag, the zipper pulled up with a zip. </p><p>“Well, are you worrying about music now?” Alfred asked.</p><p>Putting on his thinking face, Arthur slugged his bag over his shoulder, furrowing his brows. Come to think of it, performing perfectly well did not cross his mind once.</p><p>“Um, no?” Arthur answered. </p><p>“See! You’re gonna have fun!”</p><p>Instruments and uniform bags in hand, the band got into their buses. After when Bus 1 spent ten minutes searching for Feliciano’s missing glove, eventually found in Feliciano’s pocket by Ludwig, the band began their trip to the Day of Music. With two hours away from their destination, Bus 2 did not hold back their antics. As soon as the rear of the bus rolled onto the freeway, Mathias and Jett, seated beside Alfred and Arthur, began their infamous duets.</p><p>Mathias started.</p><p>
  <em>The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Round and ‘round,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Round and ‘round,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>All day long!</em>
</p><p>Mathias pointed to Jett. “Hit it, Jett!”</p><p>Jett sang,</p><p>
  <em>The horn on the bus go honk, honk, honk,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Honk, honk, honk,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Honk, honk, honk, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The horn on the bus go honk, honk, honk, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>All day long!” </em>
</p><p>“I got something, I got something!” Alfred shouted, gazes, some annoyed and others amused, turning towards him.</p><p>
  <em>The phone on the bus goes ring, ring, ring </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ring, ring, ring</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ring, ring, ring,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The phone on the bus goes ring, ring, ring,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>All they long! </em>
</p><p>“Artie, babe! Sing with us!”</p><p>Arthur jerked out his earbuds, giving Alfred a flabbergasted expression. “What? Me?” he asked, pointing to himself</p><p>“Yeah, you! Pleeeeease?” Alfred gave puppy eyes.</p><p>Promoted by the rest of the section’s silent stares, Arthur rolled his eyes and sang,</p><p>
  <em>The trumpets on the bus sing ‘round and round, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Round and ‘round,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Round and ‘round,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The trumpets on the bus sing ‘round and ‘round,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>All bloody day long.</em>
</p><p>“Babe, I like that!” Alfred laughed, giving a playful nudge on the shoulder, an opinion reinforced by the other trumpets’ laugh and grins. “Yo, Mattie dude!” He shouted towards the mellophone section. Join us brah!”</p><p>Pausing in the middle of a text message to Gilbert, Matthew looked back at the trumpets with a blank expression, before singing,</p><p>
  <em>The mello on the bus says no, no, no,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The mello on the bus says no, no, no, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>All day long. </em>
</p><p>With a teasing glint in his cornflower eyes, Matthew gave a shit-eating grin at Alfred before averting his gaze back to his phone screen.</p><p>“Dude! Mattie!” Alfred exclaimed with a playful frown. </p><p>“You can argue that he did participate with us.” Arthur remarked.</p><p>“The trombones, the trombones!” A freshman trumpet exclaimed. “What do the trombones on the bus do?”</p><p>From the driver’s seat, the bus driver tightening his grip on the steering wheel and grumbled under his breath, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”</p><p>Suburban homes, lonely gas stations, and strip shopping malls ascended to thirty-story apartment buildings, hotels, and rows of brand-name stores and restaurants. The Global High Band got off their buses at a street corner. Garbed in their entire uniforms, hats, and gloves, and holding their instruments, the band students followed the Edelsteins and volunteers to their spot in the parade. The walking blue and white band moseyed down the sidewalks and across the streets, finally halting at a corner in front of a bank. There, the bandsmen placed their instruments down, free to go grab a quick lunch anywhere. A few stayed back, somehow still full from their breakfast, making perfect guards for the instruments, while their peers went separate directions to get food.</p><p>“Yo guys!” A trumpet junior shouted as her section mates set down their instruments between the flutes and clarinets. “Let get some food together!”</p><p>“Yeah! Yee! Cool, definitely!” The rest of the trumpets agreed.</p><p>Arthur and Alfred stood around their section’s sidelines, before looking at each other. </p><p>“So, where do you want to go?” Alfred asked, looking down the street.</p><p>“Anything but McDonald’s.”</p><p>“Let’s take a quick look around, babe.” </p><p>As the two first trumpet players began to walk down the opposite direction, Mathias and Jett watched them leave, each clenching their brows. </p><p>“Should we?” Mathias asked in a hesitant tone.</p><p>“I mean, they are part of the section.” Jett suggested with a shrug. “Besides, they did help us with first trumpet.”</p><p>Arthur and Alfred approached the end of the street, pressing the pedestrian cross signal and waiting for the green light. They looked over their shoulders at a pair of footsteps hurrying towards them.</p><p>Mathias came to a stop. “Hey guys!” He huffed through his breaths. </p><p>“Yes? What is it?” Arthur gave a strange look. </p><p>“Wanna get lunch with us? The trumpets? Our section?”</p><p>Alfred looked at Arthur. “You want to?” He asked the sandy-blond.</p><p>Looking at Mathias’s stretched smile, Arthur hmphed. “Fine, sure. Why not?”</p><p>To the trumpets, lunches consisted of anything. Before he suspected it, Arthur sat in a circular booth in a Denny’s surrounded by his section, face in a menu picking his second breakfast for the day. </p><p>“I can finish this on my own!” A freshman trumpet bragged, pointing to a picture of a large plate stacked with heaps of pancakes and stuffed with eggs and crispy bacon. </p><p>“Wanna race eating it?” Another freshman smirked. </p><p>“Bro, let’s go!” Other trumpets chorused in. </p><p>Arthur frowned. “Don’t participate in such a ridiculous activity!” He cut in with a stern, warning tone. “The last thing I want to happen is any of you puking on the streets in television.”</p><p>“Wow, killjoy.” A few freshmen grumbled, though they zipped their mouths at Arthur’s glare. </p><p>Mathias and Jett knitted their brows, looking back and forth from the menu and Arthur and biting their tongues.</p><p>“I do kinda think Arthur is a killjoy too.” Mathias whispered to his partner-in-crime.</p><p>“Yeah, me too. But I see what he’s doin’.” Jett admitted. “Wanna say something?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“I’ll back ya up.”</p><p>Mathias spoke up. “Well, it is a lot of food.” He admitted, giving the freshmen a sympathetic look. “It still looks good, though.”</p><p>Jett spoke up. “It’s a bloody good price, too. Maybe people can split it?” </p><p>“Yeah!” Some trumpets nodded, smiles returning to the freshmen’s faces. </p><p>Moments later, the trumpet section chatted over two combo plates, a sight earning strange looks from the other restaurant-goers. Although Arthur originally decided to get a muffin and tea, after bugging and nagging from Alfred and a few other section mates, he gave in, sharing a plate with Alfred, Mathias, and Jett. </p><p> <em>“It’s such an odd feeling.” </em>He thought as he observed the rest of the trumpets leaned their ears towards Jett, who described his tale of how his cousins fended their home from a horde of emus. A warm feeling lingered in Arthur’s chest. <em>“Is this what is like to be close with a group of people, not just one?”</em></p><p>The trumpet section finished their meals thirty minutes before the time Roderich ordered them to be back. </p><p>“Let’s head back now.” Arthur said, turning towards the direction where Global High was stationed.</p><p>The other trumpets began to follow suit, when Alfred mentioned, “You dudes go on ahead. I’m gonna explore here a bit.”</p><p>“Explore?” Stars in some of the other trumpets’ eyes flashed. “We wanna come too!”</p><p>“Now, we mustn’t be late.” Arthur began, holding himself back from saying, <em>“As your boyfriend, Alfred, don’t you dare convince me to follow you, you git!”</em></p><p>“You guys can go back if you wanna.” Alfred said. “Just wanted to because I don’t go here a lot.”</p><p><em>“Come to think of it, the only times I come here is when my family and I go to the airport to visit grandfather and grandmother.” </em>Arthur thought before quickly saying, “Wait! I’m coming with you!”</p><p>As Arthur hurried to Alfred’s side, running around the other trumpets, Mathias asked Jett, “Wanna tag along?”</p><p>“Why not? The others are goin’ too. Hey! Wait for us, mates!”</p><p>Down the city the trumpets went, taking peeks inside random shops and buildings. Upon entering a pet store, Jett spoke about buying a beta fish or two, a statement (fortunately) not followed through when the section exited with no hamsters, bunnies, or kitties cradled in their arms. Then, they entered a park, where they posed on play structure for photos. Arthur settled for having a photo taken with Alfred in front of the water fountain, rolling his eyes as a few section mates gave them googly eyes. With five minutes left until call time, the trumpets scampered out a hotel restroom towards their station, arriving just as the other instrument sections returned. </p><p>“So… was it... worth it?” Alfred asked through pants as the trumpets took their instruments.</p><p>“You can argue so.” Arthur furrowed his brows at Alfred’s pants. Are you well?”</p><p>Alfred nodded, setting his hand on his chest, a gesture Arthur furrowed his brows at.</p><p>“Come, let’s take a seat here.” Supporting Alfred, Arthur guided him to a nearby bench.</p><p>“Is everything ok?” Mathias asked, approaching the two with Jett.</p><p>“Just…” Alfred held up a finger. “Just fine… Just needed to… catch my breath…”</p><p>“Are you able to still do this?” Arthur asked. “It’s better to have you sit out if you feel faint.”</p><p>Alfred took a final, deep breath. “No, I’ll push through.” He insisted. “I can do it.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” </p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p>As the band got into their blocks onto the street, Arthur watched Alfred. Posture straight, cheeks only a light rosy pink, bright eyes shining behind glasses, all signs that Alfred was perfectly fine.</p><p>But for how long?</p><p>The parade began. The Global High Band strode down the Main Street, playing their music over the surrounding cheers and neighboring performances’ music behind and ahead of them. Early afternoon light shone off the instruments, a blinding shine that would’ve blinded Arthur if it were not for his shades. Although Arthur initially watched Alfred from his peripheral vision, with time Arthur diverted most of his attention to his own music and steps, his checks on Alfred minimized to brief glimpses to guide his line. Any worries regarding Alfred’s condition were overshadowed by pure instinct to play music from heart and memory. Only when the Global High Band reached the end of the parade was when Arthur quickly checked on Alfred, who, to his delighted surprise, was fine like before. Never once did Alfred lag behind in his line. </p><p>“Don’t be so worried, babe!” Alfred laughed at Arthur’s pout as the band strolled back to their buses, all sweaty and exhausted yet still energetically speaking and smiling. </p><p>Arthur pouted. “Give your boyfriend the right to be worried!” </p><p>Muslin rustled as band students stuffed their jackets and uniforms back into their garment bags. Sighing, Arthur slipped on his casual jacket, enjoying the soft, fuzzy cotton fabric on his arms while watching Alfred hang his uniform bag by their seats.</p><p>As he and Jett got into their seats, Mathias spoke up to the couple. “Hey...So you guys had a good time, right?”</p><p>“Yeah dudes!” Alfred nodded. </p><p>Jett said, “Well, thanks for helpin’ us with getting’ used to first trumpet, mate! Couldn’t have done it with you! And Arthur!”</p><p>Arthur stared before smiling. “Of course. Anything for this section.”</p><p>
  <em>“Finally, I don’t sense any antagonism or forced sincerity with them, or the rest of the section.”</em>
</p><p>“Hey, Alfred, look at this!” Getting out of his seat, Matthew went towards Alfred, showing his cousin his phone. “Gilbert just sent it to me!”</p><p>Alfred cleared his glasses. “That’s us? He asked, gawking at the photo. “How did he get it?”</p><p>“Family watching TV at home took a snap, I guess. I think that’s your row over there!”</p><p>“Your row?” Mathias and Jett looked at each other. “Our row!” They exclaimed, scrambling out their seats and crowding around Alfred and Matthew. A few other band kids peered over their shoulders, trying to pick themselves out from the rows of blue and gold uniforms.</p><p>Watching the gathering crowd growing in the aisle, Arthur gave a tried smile, before looking down at his phone, swiping through the photos of today’s adventures—he and his section sitting in the Denny’s, a sleeping white Maine Coon kitten and Scottish Fold kitten cuddling each other, and, his favorite, standing in front of the park fountain with Alfred by his side.</p><p><em>“An enjoyable memory to remember.” </em>Arthur smiled to himself, setting the photo of him and Alfred as his lock screen. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whew, barely managed to finish this chapter! I wanted to use this chapter to show how both the trumpet section and Alfred &amp; Arthur are slowly getting closer to each other, as well as Arthur slowly beginning to enjoy himself in the band even though he doesn't acknowledge it or notice it yet. So hopefully, this chapter makes some sense, as again, it was not originally included in the draft.</p><p>A question for you all: Do you guys want to see more interactions between Arthur &amp; Alfred and the rest of the band members, like how this chapter gave a character arc with them and the other trumpets? This story was solely going to focus on Arthur and Alfred's relationship and how the relationship changed Arthur, but I feel that I could be doing more with the other characters. In addition, we do have winter concert band and an entire spring quarter in front of the plot before getting to the angst. </p><p>Before returning to the main plot, I was thinking of having some chapter arcs about Arthur's family warming up to Alfred, the alto saxes (Feliciano, Kiku, Lovino's relationship with Alfred), Ivan and Alfred's conflicts (I don't give Ivan enough attention in my stories), Ludwig's interest and worries in becoming drum major, and Matthew and Gilbert's relationship. If any of y'all are interested, please let me know in the comments. Suggestions for these chapters' subplots will also be appreciated, as I literally don't have a clear idea on what to write about. In other words, I might be saying that I'm taking requests. </p><p>If I don't get any suggestions and ideas on the subplots, I'm going to just continue with the plot and potentially add the character arc subplots in the future, assuming that I'll still be interested in updating this story once when it's "completed" and working on my next multi-chapter fic.</p><p>Edit 4/11/21 because I can't make up my mind to save my life: The next chapter will probably continue with the main plot, as I just realized this story is already a whooping 15 chapters. Some feedback will be appreciated and considered, though!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Transitions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Context:<br/>Band camp is a marching band summer camp held for members to develop their music and marching skills. It also serves as an introduction for joining freshmen.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the end of February, Arthur had already grown accustomed to the Global High Marching Band. Though, despite being arguably the best musician in the trumpet section and one of the best in the entire band, his self-confidence did not equate to his music skills. Anyone who merely suggested that Arthur had potential in other areas earned a funny look from Arthur, including Alfred himself.</p><p>“Me? Run for Drum Major?” Arthur rose a brow and slanted his lips at Alfred. “Why do you suggest that?”</p><p>The couch crunched under Alfred’s weight, as Alfred leaned back on the couch. “Well, ‘cause you’re good at music babe.”</p><p>Arthur responded, shutting the novel in his lap and crossing his arms. “Who would vote for me, a spiritless uncharismatic person?”</p><p>“I would.” Alfred grinned at Arthur eyeroll.</p><p>“Oh Alfred, you surprise me sometimes.” Arthur remarked, mockery rolling off his tongue. “I’d run for that position if I had more than five months of experience in a marching band. Frankly, I wouldn’t stand a chance, especially if someone like Ludwig is running.”</p><p>“Yeah, I get that. Ludwig’s pretty good.” Alfred admitted, putting his hands behind the back of his head.</p><p>“How is your arrangement coming along by the way?” Arthur questioned, scanning through the music notes filling the rows and columns of empty measures, each giving the black and white world distinguishing features.</p><p>“Great, babe! I’m busy with classes and all, but this summer, I’ll have more time to finish it! And when I finish it, I’ll show it to you first! It’ll be the coolest thing ever!”</p>
<hr/><p>“Ve~ Arthur, can I ask you something?” Feliciano asked, as the band packed up their instruments at the end of rehearsal. The younger Vargas brother twiddled his fingers as Arthur rose a brow at him.</p><p>“Yes, what is it now, Feliciano?” Arthur responded, shutting his instrument case. </p><p>“So, my section’s section leaders are graduating this year, and well, they made me and Kiku take their place for next year.” Feliciano explained. </p><p>“Oh, really? Well, congratulations.” Arthur smiled, concealing his surprise that out of all junior alto saxes, Feliciano was chosen to be the next section leader.</p><p>“I know that Kiku is going to be a great section leader,” Feliciano knitted his brows. “But I don’t know if I’ll be a good one. I forget things so easily, and I can’t find my way around the football field during practice, and I’m not very good at the alto like Kiku, and I’m always relying on other people like Ludwig and Lovino for help, and—!”</p><p>Arthur cut in. “At least you’re not a grouchy music perfectionist.” He reassured. “I’m sure that your section will be glad to have you as section leader. We can always need more cheeriness and kindness here.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Feliciano’s eyes shined with bewilderment. “Well, grazie! I feel much better now! By the way, who’s going to be your section’s next section leaders?”</p><p>Arthur put on his thinking face. “I actually don’t know. The trumpet section does not have any official section leaders. Typically, two people just have influence over the section, and the section follows suit. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Just curious. I felt that you and Alfred can be good ones.” Feliciano answered with a sweet smile. </p><p>Like running for drum major, becoming a section leader never crossed Arthur’s mind until then, a small mention that turned into a full-fledged concerned conversation when he mentioned it over the dining table that night.</p><p>“Section leader? You? A leader?” Allistor smirked. “Well, you got the music knowledge and the strict attitude for it.” </p><p>“Oh, put a sock in it.” Arthur scowled.</p><p>Mrs. Kirkland pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s Monday, boys. Not now.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Arthur and Allistor grumbled, shooting each other glares before facing their plates.</p><p>Setting his paper aside, Mr. Kirkland spoke up. “So Arthur, are you considering being… section leader, am I correct?”</p><p>“The trumpets don’t quite have two <em>assigned</em> section leaders.” Arthur clarified, holding up his index and middle fingers. “What happens is the whole section just follows two people, which you can argue, are the section leaders. But I just don’t know.”</p><p>“I strongly recommend running for it.” Mr. Kirkland suggested. “It’ll be something to add to college applications.”</p><p>“But what good would it be if I’m not a good leader?” Arthur questioned. </p><p>“If someone said you’ll be a good leader, then you’ll have nothing to worry.” Mrs. Kirkland reassured. “In addition, judging from Feliciano’s remark, you and Alfred will likely make a perfect duo.”</p><p>“Of course! ‘Cause they haven’t broken up yet again.” Allistor gave a smug grin.</p><p>“Oh, zip it twat!” Arthur retorted. “I know that Alfred would be a better choice. What would I be able to contribute to the trumpet section?”</p><p>“Obviously, your knowledge.” Mr. Kirkland answered, stirring some honey into his tea. “But the only way for you to know for sure, is to try.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Next 8th Period</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Trumpet in his hand, Arthur counted the beats, eyes occasionally darting from the number of rests up to the junior band student standing at the front of the class. His conducting lacked the elegance of Mr. Edelstein and Roderich’s, for he swiped the baton in jerky movements.</p><p>Arthur frowned. <em>“What measure are we on now? I lost count because I can’t read his damn conducting—!”</em></p><p>The trumpets’ blares cut off Arthur’s inner rant, some a few beats late. From behind the trombones and baritone horns, Mr. Edelstein held up a fist. The baton flew out the student’s hand just as he cut the band off.</p><p>“Thank you very much for demonstrating your conducting for today.” Mr. Edelstein told the student. “Let’s give it up for Greg, our second candidate for drum major.”</p><p>Scattered claps pattered as Greg returned the baton to Mr. Edelstein before hurrying to his seat at the clarinet section, flustered face red with shame. </p><p>“Our last candidate who will be conducting today is Ludwig.” Mr. Edelstein announced. “Please welcome Ludwig to the stage.”</p><p>The band gave a thunderous round of applauses as Mr. Edelstein handed his baton to Ludwig, who rounded around the band and made his way up to the front of the classroom. While Feliciano watched with a soft and (arguably) smitten smile, Gilbert hollered, “Yeah! That’s mein bruder!”</p><p>Ludwig’s firm, stoic expression and consistent conducting mirrored those of Roderich, a foreign uncanniness. Ludwig might arguably have the best music and conducting skills comparable to Roderich, though the blond ice-blue eyed drummer was not the brunet, violet-eyed son of the band director.</p><p><em>“I’m sure that Ludwig would be a fine drum major.” </em>Arthur supposed, clapping with the rest of the band as Ludwig left the front of the classroom. Gilbert tackled Ludwig in a tight bro-hug after Ludwig returned the baton to Mr. Edelstein. Roderich stood in the sidelines next to the clarinet section, giving an approving nod to Ludwig. <em>“But something tells me I’ll miss Roderich when he graduates this year.”</em></p><p>Mr. Edelstein directed the remaining twenty-minutes of concert band rehearsal, ending it with his closing remarks.</p><p>“The concert will be a week from now.” He stated. “Be sure to practice so you are prepared.”</p><p>With Mr. Edelstein’s last sentence, the band students rose, the chairs scraping against the floor with their movement as they went to the lockers. Caged locker doors squeaking open followed the sound of instrument cases flipping open. </p><p>“Arthur and Alfred, can I speak to you two now?” </p><p>Kneeling in front of their open cases, Arthur and Alfred peered at their band director from over their shoulders.</p><p>“Yes, what is it?” Arthur asked, as he and Alfred got onto their feet.</p><p>“Follow me.” Mr. Edelstein guided the pair from the other band kids’ ruckus into the hallway leading to the practice rooms and uniform room. “I want both of you to become section leaders.” He said to them. </p><p>“Section leaders?” Alfred gave a funny look, looking at Arthur who returned a blank expression. We haven’t had any in the past years from what I’ve heard.”</p><p>“Well, I’m putting an end to that everlasting tradition.” Mr. Edelstein responded. “Though, if neither of you want it, I won’t force it. I’ll just search for someone else in the section.”</p><p>Alfred beamed. “I’ll take it!” </p><p>“I appreciate it, Alfred. How about you, Arthur?”</p><p>Arthur paused. <em>“Should I really accept this? Who would listen to someone like me? Would this position burst in my face when I accept it?” </em>Scrunching his brows, Arthur glimpsed at Alfred, who shot an urging smile.</p><p>Who could resist such a smile? In addition, with Alfred by his side, Arthur would have the support he needed.</p><p>“...I’ll accept it.” Arthur answered to Mr. Edelstein. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Day Before Night of Concert</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“in nurses office rn. felt funny.”</em>
</p><p>Arthur furrowed his brows at Alfred’s text message, the third message he sent regarding his absence this week. </p><p><em>“Take your time, love. I’ll handle our section for today.” </em>Arthur typed, before sliding his phone into his pocket and unlocking his instrument case.</p><p>Trumpet in hand, Arthur strolled past the other trumpets seated on their chairs, past the rows of knees and legs. His stomach churned at Alfred’s barren seat placed at Arthur’s right.</p><p>“Hey, Arthur?”</p><p>Arthur looked past Alfred’s seat at Mathias, the Dane giving a concerned look.</p><p>“Where’s Alfred? You know how he’s doing?” Mathias asked. </p><p>“He is currently in the nurse’s office.” Arthur answered. “I wouldn’t worry.”</p><p>“It’s the third time he missed 8th period, though.” Mathias mentioned. </p><p>“That means the entire section is stuck with me again.” Arthur said with a wry grin.</p><p>Mr. Roderich led a full run through of the entire performance, getting an idea on the final touches the band needed to make. At the end, he gave his usual critiques.</p><p>“Tenors, note the dynamics starting at measure 24. Play forte with the trumpets. You have the melody with them.” Mr. Edelstein spoke, unsmiling at Antonio grinning at Gilbert, who playfully elbowed Francis for telling them to not to play too loud.</p><p><em>“For once, he encouraged another section to play as loud as us. </em>Arthur thought, as Mr. Edelstein turned his attention to the lower brass instruments. <em> “Actually, he hasn’t been criticizing our dynamics most recently.”</em></p><p>As the trombones, baritones, and tubas did a run-through of measures 16 to 32 under Mr. Edelstein’s command, Arthur listened to the bass parts, their low notes concealing the sounds of the door squeaking open, a book bag being set on the floor with the trumpets section’s, and shuffling of feet.</p><p>Arthur jumped in his seat when the chair to his right creaked with an added weight.</p><p>“Hey, babe.” Alfred greeted a whisper, setting his music on the music rack.</p><p>“You’re here!?” Arthur asked in a loud whispering voice that would have been heard had it not been for the trombones.</p><p>“Yeah, babe. Or you can say that I’m a ghost or a hologram.” Alfred grinned at Arthur’s pout.</p><p>“Love, aren’t you supposed to be resting now? Tell me the details.” Arthur demanded.</p><p>“After lying down a bit, I felt better. Doc said that as long as I don’t overexert myself, I should be good. I gotta go see him if I start really tired.”</p><p>“Are you sure? The last thing I want to see today is you slumping in your seat lifeless like a rag doll.” Arthur narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah! Thanks for worrying, babe.”</p><p>“Oh, I’ll definitely worry about you, from this rehearsal, the concert, to the end of this quarter.”</p><p>To Arthur’s bewildered relief, Alfred never fainted in the middle of practice or the concert itself. As winter quarter transitioned to spring quarter, no matter how many times Arthur set next to Alfred’s empty chair, Alfred always appeared on the day of performances, from winter concert, spring concert, and the year’s graduation ceremony, playing his trumpet loud and proud as if he attended his practices in spirit.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Class of 201X’s Graduation </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Following the turns of tassels, the crowd boomed in cheers as blue and white graduation caps flew up in the air. While parents, relatives, and close friends sauntered off the football stands onto the field, the graduating seniors rose from the rows of seats, heading off to take pictures with their friends.</p><p>The ex-senior band students headed to the small stage where the band performed. While Yao waved towards Ivan to coax him off the stage for a picture, Feliciano dashed off the stage and launched himself at Lovino, giving him a huge hug. Lovino scowled, though his expression lightened into a rare smile when his parents snapped a photo of him with Feliciano and their grandfather Julius.</p><p>Gilbert dashed towards his enormous music clique so quickly, Arthur feared the albino would stumble over his royal blue robe and faceplant onto the field’s turf. Francis and Antonio rose from their seats as Gilbert got on the stage, his steps clobbering on the flat surface. “Gil! Don’t leave us!” They cried dramatically.</p><p>“Aw, man.” Gilbert threw his arms around his two partners in crime, patting their backs. “I won’t miss this school, but I’ll miss you all here!” </p><p>Releasing his two closest friends, Gilbert searched the heads for Ludwig; catching him sitting in back with a tuba resting in his arms. “Luddy,” he started, as he approached the blond with a teary smile.</p><p>“Gilbert.” Ludwig rose, placing his school tuba next to his seat bell-down. </p><p>Gilbert gave Ludwig a heavy pat on the arm. “You go kick some arsch when you’re drum major, got it?”</p><p>“As long as you go kick some arsch when you’re off to college.” Ludwig responded, a small grin appearing on his face. </p><p>The Beilschmidt brothers embraced each other, with Gilbert lifting the taller Ludwig for a few seconds. Over Ludwig’s black-clad shoulder, Gilbert spotted Matthew, dressed in black and white per the band’s dress code, smiling softly at him. </p><p>“Congrats, love.” Matthew said, as Gilbert set Ludwig down.</p><p>“Danke.” Gilbert took Matthew into his arms and gave him a smooch on the lips.</p><p>“Gettin’ some action, huh?” Antonio shouted at the couple as Francis chuckled.</p><p>Ludwig’s flushing face went blank. “Now, let’s take it down a notch.” he started.</p><p>“Couples, huh?” Alfred said to Arthur in a teasing voice, about to sneak a miss onto Arthur’s cheek. </p><p>Catching his boyfriend’s lips from the corner of his eyes, Arthur covered Alfred’s mouth with his hand. “You sneaky bastard.” </p><p>“Aw.” Alfred pouted. “I don’t think we kissed once. But I’ll keep on waiting.”</p><p>Arthur watched the football field’s crowds, catching Roderich blocking his face and Elizabeta’s from the crowd with his blue graduation cap, the two giving each other a kiss. “I have an idea on when we can kiss.” he said.</p><p>“Really? When?”</p><p>“When we graduate.” Arthur smirked at Alfred’s frown.</p><p>“But that’s another year!” </p><p>The day after the graduation ceremony, Arthur already created a basic outline on how his ideal senior year would look like. He would greet the incoming freshmen at something called “band camp”, start strong with his AP classes, and complete his college applications. In the end, he would open the mailbox to acceptance letters, and give that precious kiss to Alfred, diplomas in both their hands.</p><p>Yes, Alfred was still ill, with no telling on what would happen next. However, like how he surprised Arthur for the remainder of their junior year, Alfred would most definitely overcome obstacles thrown by his disease.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Three Weeks Before Start of School, Band Camp</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“Welcome to our section, dudes and dudettes!”</p><p>Toying their trumpets’ valves and picking at the football field’s turf and black stuff, the new freshmen trumpets gawked at their section leaders, the taller blue-eyed one having an excited grin and the shorter green-eyed one having a straight face. Behind the freshmen sat the upperclassmen, half looking at Alfred and Arthur, and the other half looking around the field at the other instrument sections. The mid-morning sunlight draped the group with warmth, shining and streaking across their instruments’ brass coats. </p><p>“I’m Alfred! I’m one of your section leaders!”</p><p>“And my name is Arthur. I’m your second section leader. Pleased to meet you.”</p><p>From morning to late afternoon, the band taught their newcomers the ways of marching, through the summer heat and sweat, and down the marked yard lines. At the end of Band Camp, all the band students parted, some returning home, and others choosing to spend more time with each other. As part of Alfred’s suggestion, the trumpet members decided to head downtown to get dinner together. </p><p>The heart of downtown was only a fifteen-minute walk from the school campus, a large city park bordering between the two destinations. The tree’s green-leaved shade shielded their tanned skins from the heat, as they trailed the concrete path cutting through the lawn, past the play structures, gazebo, and fountain.</p><p>“I don’t remember the last time I came to this park.” Arthur remarked, as he and his section entered a bridge, their steps causing ripples in the trickling river below. “My family and I only drive to downtown.”</p><p>“You gotta take some time off and explore this park, bae!” Alfred replied, halting in his track and peering over the bridge at his reflection, distorted by the creek’s waves. “Whoa, there’s a lot of water compared to last year.”</p><p>The other trumpets joined Alfred. </p><p>“That’s what happen when it actually starts raining.” Mathias said.</p><p>“Crikey, I’ve never seen this much water before!” Jett remarked. “I remember when I was a kid, I swam in there and fought alligators in there!”</p><p>Some freshman trumpets stared at Jett. “What? Really?”</p><p>Jett chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Nah, not the second part. Gators don’t live here. But I used to swim in there before it got all dried up.”</p><p>“Gators don’t live here?” One of the more mischievous freshmen smirked at Jett. “Are you sure? Wanna prove it?”</p><p>“I’ll prove it.” </p><p>“Then jump in.” The freshman pointed down the bridge.</p><p>“Jump?!” Jett’s cockiness shattered. “Me???”</p><p>“Yeah, jump!” A sophomore chimed in, joined in by other trumpets.</p><p>“Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!”</p><p>From the sidelines, Arthur gave an amused grin.</p><p>“Do ya really want me to?” Jett questioned in disbelief. “Or are all you guys pullin’ my leg?”</p><p>“YAHOO!”</p><p>The trumpets whisked around at the blur of Alfred tossing himself off the bridge, plunging into the river with a splash. Alfred broke through the river’s shimmering surface with a gasp, eyes shining with joy.</p><p>“Come down in here, dudes!” He called up to his section from the water. “The water’s cool and fine! No gators or anything!” </p><p>“Ya sure?” A trumpet junior called back.</p><p>“Only one way to find out!” Mathias shouted, hoisting himself over the rail into the water below. “Cannonball!”</p><p>“I’m not a coward! Look!” After a running start, Jett leapt over the bridge. </p><p>“Hey! Don’t leave me hanging!” The other trumpets shouted.</p><p>Splash, splash, splash, splash! One by one, the trumpeters leapt down into the stream. Soon, only Arthur remained on the bridge, watching his laughing peers bob up and down as they splashed each other with water. </p><p>Alfred waved at his boyfriend. “Artie! Join us!”</p><p>“Me? Join you all?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brows.</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>“The water’s nice! C’mon!” Mathias added.</p><p>“I can’t even swim!” Arthur protested.</p><p>“We‘ll help you!” Alfred responded. “Come in!”</p><p>Crossing his arms, Arthur shot his section a scornful frown, before walking away from the bridge’s edge.</p><p>Jett frowned. “Bummer.”</p><p>“That’s your typical Arthur.” Mathias shrugged.</p><p>“Tally ho!” A green shape lurched from the sky and plummeted into the water. Bursting from the cool water, Arthur gasped, flailing his arms to prevent himself from sinking.</p><p>“There’s Artie!” Alfred swam over to Arthur, grabbing a hold of the smaller male. Coughing, Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred for support, panting his exhaustion. “So, there you are, dude! Finally decided to join us?”</p><p>Arthur’s breaths slowed down. Frowning, Arthur glared at Alfred before slapping a handful of water into his face.</p><p>Alfred sputtered as the other trumpets pointed and laughed. “Arthur?! Why???” He whined.</p><p>“What?” A bemused grin formed on Arthur’s features. “You’re splashing people with your waves of fury, so why can’t I do the same to you?”</p><p>Five minutes later, the trumpet section headed out the water, resuming their original trip. The sun provided warmth to the shivering teens, though not enough heat to dry their drenched clothes and prevent them from getting odd looks from strangers as they stood in line, staring at a menu.</p><p>One hour later, the section returned to campus. The juniors and seniors waved goodbye as they headed to the student parking lot, leaving Alfred and Arthur to wait with the freshmen and sophomores. Once when the last freshman got into her parent’s car, Arthur and Alfred watched the car zoom down the street, before heading to the parking lot themselves. The sky transitioned into a dimming hue of purple and blue, prompting the streetlights to flash on.  </p><p>“That was quite a time.” Arthur remarked, his sandy blond hair sticking in weird places.</p><p>Yep, it was babe.” Alfred answered, running a hand through his frizzy hair. </p><p>Arthur pressed a button on his car keys, causing his car to unlock as its lights flashed. “I didn’t expect jumping into a river to be a part of band camp.” He said, setting his stuff on the back seat.</p><p>“I didn’t too.” Alfred replied, getting into the front passenger seat. “I think senior year’s gonna be great. The freshmen are great, people in band are great, everything’s gonna be great.</p><p>“With a section leader like you, our section is going to be great.” Arthur smiled at Alfred. </p><p>“And you, your music-stick-in-the-mudness will be very useful for us.”</p><p>Arthur rolled his eyes with a smirk. “And your annoying obnoxiousness will be just as useful.” </p><p>Seatbelts on, Arthur drove down the street towards Alfred’s house. The sunless, orange-yellow sky slowly turned into a splash of navy and purple. White speckles appeared, their brightness increasing with the sky’s darkening. </p><p>Arthur stopped at an intersection. As he stared at the red light, he caught a humming whisper over his car’s rumbling engine.</p><p>Alfred leaned up in his set, resting on the car’s dashboard, looking up at the sky. <em>“Twinkle, twinkle, little star.” </em>He hummed.</p><p>Rubbing his thumb on the stirring wheel, Arthur joined in, eyes on the white dots, as cars whisked by in front of them. “How I wonder what you are.” He whispered.</p><p>Alfred sang a bit louder, imitating Arthur’s soft whisper. “Up above the world so high.”</p><p>“Like a diamond in the sky.” Arthur and Alfred sang together. </p><p>The light flashed green, prompting Arthur to push on the gas. As residential houses drifted by, the two completed the final verses.</p><p>“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>1 Week Before the Beginning of Senior Year</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>A ringtone rang out from Arthur’s room, vibrating on the bed stand. Whisking his head towards the abrupt noise, Arthur sent water droplets splattering on the white counter and mirror. Drying his face with his washcloth, he hung the damp cloth. His steps thumped on the tiled floor, softening on the carpet once he left the bathroom.</p><p><em>Matthew Williams</em>. Arthur skimmed through the name on his screen, tapping on the red phone icon and bringing his phone up to his ear.</p><p>“Hello Matthew? What is the matter? Something wrong?”</p><p>At Matthew’s soft yet concerned, rushed mutter, Arthur gasped, eyes widening and grip tightening around his phone.</p><p>“Alfred was hospitalized last night?!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welcome to another chapter of "I don't know what to write!"<br/>Originally, this chapter would've been a brief summary at the end of the last one. Though, I felt that I could do better than just summarizing what happens during the rest of the school year, hence me trying to write something more for this chapter to show Arthur and the band changing.<br/>While band camps have a reputation for wild and weird things happening, I didn't consider having an entire chapter dedicated for it, so no absurd things in this chapter, sorry. Does jumping into a river with your section count, though?<br/>Catch the YLiA references made here! The next chapter is going to enter angst territory again. I'm not the best at writing angst, so to be realistic, it's probably going to be pretty mild compared to the other fics in the same genre here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>